Is This What They Call Paradise
by Noonigan
Summary: Canon divergence post 9.03. Dean finally invites a broken, human Castiel to live in the bunker. What begins as a cosy, domestic scene soon turns into something darker as Castiel is exposed to all the vices humanity has to offer, and begins walking down a slippery slope. Meanwhile Dean begins to question his motives towards the ex-angel. Fluff, Angst, Drug use, slow build Destiel.
1. Welcome Home

**A/N-This is my first fic, reviews are more than welcome my lovelies! This story will be fairly clean to begin with, I'm a fan of slow-build Destiel. I will add a new chapter every week, sorry for any errors, I've tried to correct as much as I can, but no one is perfect!**

-Chapter one "Welcome home"-

"So, uh, this is you I guess." Dean mumbled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand while gesturing through the doorframe with his left.

"Thank you, Dean, this will be more than sufficient." Castiel, former angel of the lord rumbled in his usual gravelly tone, entering the sparse military style bedroom. Dean clenched his jaw, guilt flooding him. On the advice of an angel he didn't even know, he'd denied a very human Cas sanctuary in the bunker when he'd needed it the most; it was like kicking a dog when it was already down.

It had made it even worse when 'Ezekiel' turned out not to be who Dean thought he was, and instead Gadreel, an angel who'd just busted out of Heavenly Guantanamo Bay where he'd been in solitary confinement for betraying heaven and being the cause of all evil or something along those lines. But that was over now; Dean was determined to protect his best friend. God knows he needed it, Cas had been a kick ass angel before, but now… well, now he was just pitiful, to be frank. Dean could see it in his posture, the way he slumped over slightly, deflated, hunching his back like he wanted to retreat into himself.

When Dean had finally overcome his nerves and approached Cas to propose him taking up residence in the Men of Letters Bunker, Cas' blue eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree, only making Dean feel guiltier. He was determined that if Cas had to suffer being human, he would not have to slum it, and Sam agreed with this sentiment. Yes, Dean smiled to himself, they would make sure Cas was quite comfortable and who knows? One day the fallen angel might become a passable human being.

"I know it's not much, the Men of Letters were real stiffs when it comes to decorating their rooms, but I reckon with a little TLC this place will…" Dean trailed off when he realised that Cas had next to nothing in the way of personal possessions. Nothing to make the sparse brick walls or the small double bed seem a little bit homier. Cas turned to him, a small smile tugging at his lips

"Really, Dean, Thank you" He said genuinely, and Dean rubbed his neck again,

"Look, Cas, you know, I really am sorry about…I wish I could take it back, you obviously, And I-" Dean stammered, trying to get out another apology for casting out Cas on the streets.

"You do not need to apologise, Dean, I understand why you did it, I would have jeopardised the safety of your home being here."

"Our home," Dean corrected "It's your home too now, Sammy and I will make sure your time as a human will be as close to good as a hunter can have, I promise, dude." Castiel flinched slightly at the word human and sat down on the bed, cautiously running his hands over the plain brown bed covers.

"I tell you what, Cas, when we've got a spare minute, Sammy and I will take you to Ikea, maybe get a little something to spice up the room?" Dean proposed

"Why would I have need of adding spices to the room?" Cas inquired, cocking his head to one side and narrowing his eyes slightly.

"It's just an expression, man." Dean chuckled, "Ikea is a furniture store, I thought maybe you might want to get something to, I don't know, personalise your room? "

"Personalise?"

"Ya' know, like I have my gun collection and my magazines and Sammy has well-actually he doesn't have much but you know…" He trailed off, feeling slightly foolish. Cas frowned a little, like he was thinking hard about something.

"That would be…nice." He said at last. Dean smiled.

"Great. You can make yourself comfy here or whatever you want," He gestured around the room, "Was gonna' order a pizza for dinner if you're hungry"

"Dean, I do not believe constant takeaway food constitutes a balanced diet" Cas said flatly in a way that reminded Dean of the old Cas, and he grinned.

"Shut up, Pizza has tomatoes and cheese and bread and meat. See? You got your four main food groups, right there." Dean grumbled jokingly as slapped his friend once on the shoulder and walked out of the room, leaving Cas alone sitting on the, no, _his _bed.

**CASTIEL**

Cas sighed a very human sigh, and let his head slump back against the headboard of the bed. Being human, as Sam and Dean would say, sucked. He had newfound admiration for the race, they functioned normally despite all these annoyances that Castiel had not yet gotten used to. They were required to bathe and launder clothes, deal with more primal urges like those of the sexual nature, as well as eat and drink to nourish their bodies. The one that Castiel still had difficulty adjusting to was the seemingly _constant _need to urinate. Bodily functions were still alien to him, despite being human for almost a month and a half now.

No, Castiel reflected, this was not going to being easy. He reached for the small duffel bag at the foot of his bed, containing all his worldly possessions. A pair of underwear, two pairs of socks, an identical pair of slacks to the ones he was wearing, and a starchy white shirt, In which he'd wrapped his angel blade. He gently unwrapped the gleaming silver blade, running a finger slowly up the edge, flipping it over in his hands. He sighed again. Castiel seemed to sigh a lot as of late. He could no longer summon his angel blade- could no longer have it pop conveniently out of his sleeve. Whereas before it had thrummed with energy in his hand, as if responding to his touch, now it felt cold, hard, and lifeless, like the hunk of metal it appeared to be.

Placing his blade on the nightstand, he stood up and neatly folded his one change of clothes, placing them in the small wardrobe. Nodding to himself once, he straightened his trench coat and exited his new room, following the scent of fresh pizza, one that both attracted and repulsed him simultaneously. Having to eat was truly irritating, and Castiel avoided it if at all possible. But the hunger always came back, and he succumbed every time to the primal urge to eat despite the fact eating reminded him of how human he was.

"Look, I'm just sayin' Sammy, if man wasn't meant to eat Pizza, then it wouldn't taste so good. I don't get you're freaky obsession with rabbit food." Dean grumbled at Sam, who was currently frying some nondescript lump in a pan over the stove.

"When your metabolism finally slows down and you're crappy eating habits catch up with you, don't come crying your morbidly obese ass to me, bitch." Sam said animatedly, waving his spatula around in an exasperated motion.

"Jerk." Dean retorted.

A quiet laugh escaped Castiel's lips as he witnessed the argument in front of him. It was odd seeing the Winchesters in such a domestic setting, but their co-dependence on each other was endearing if not borderline dangerous. The two brothers turned at the sound of Castiel's laugh.

"Hey Cas! Tell Moose over here that Pizza beats, wait, what even is that you're making, Sammy?" Dean said, wrinkling his nose.

"It's fish Dean," Sam sighed, "Cod is good for you, tell him Cas!" Castiel raised an eyebrow, looking between the two brothers.

"During my time as human, I have come to appreciate the taste of food. I must concede that pizza far conquers fish in this area." Cas intoned. Dean fixed Cas with a dazzling smile, exclaiming "Right?" while throwing a victorious look over to Sam, who replied in kind with an equally unamused face.

"Better be careful Sammy or when the wind blows your face will get stuck like that." Dean taunted.

"Shut up and eat your pizza." Sam mumbled, serving his fish and vegetables onto a plate and taking it to the dining table. Dean motioned for Cas to sit down with a tilt of his head, opening the cardboard pizza container, eyes lighting up like the pizza was God's greatest gift to mankind. Castiel wasn't sure if his father had had a hand in creating pizza, but he wouldn't put it past Gabriel to be responsible for such an unhealthy and wonderful creation.

**DEAN**

Dean inhaled deeply, helping himself to a massive slice of pizza loaded with melted cheese, tomatoes, sausage, chicken, pepperoni and best of all, bacon. Cas did the same, albeit more carefully. Dean took an enormous bite and moaned slightly in pleasure, watching Cas intrepidly nibble at his slice. His face relaxed instantly, and Dean could physically see the effect that proper food was having on him. Another pang of guilt hit Dean as he realised that Cas had probably not been eating enough on the streets. In fact, although it was hard to see due to the bulky trench coat, he could've sworn Cas had lost some weight. His cheekbones and what Dean could see of his collarbones were just a little more prominent than before. Dark shadows painted Cas' undereyes, but at least the pizza had caused the defeat and fatigue that had been previously etched into his face dissipate, he looked almost at peace.

"So, anyone for a movie later?" Dean asked nonchalantly as he leaned back into his chair and swung his legs up to rest on the table.

"Since when do we ever-" Sam began, but stopped as Dean threw him a glare. "Um, Sure, s'not like we've got any cases going. Maybe Cas can pick something?" Sam said instead, smiling slightly at Cas' obvious difficulty handling the drooping melted cheese on his slice of pizza.

"Mmph," Dean affirmed, taking a long gulp of his third beer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam give him a disapproving look. So what if Dean drunk more than he used to? Alcohol helped him deal with the occupational hazards of their job, and it's not like he was an alcoholic or anything. "What do you want to see, Cas?"

"My knowledge of movies is rather lacking, perhaps you two could show me one of those movies you are always making references too?" Castiel replied evenly.

"Great, how about Star Wars?" Dean grinned as he finished the last slice extra large meat feast pizza, speaking before Sam even had a chance to open his mouth. Castiel nodded, and Sam made a face that Dean interpreted as 'oh alright' but could've easily been 'not again'. Oh well, Dean thought, big brother always wins.

Dean leapt up and walked excitedly to the living room, rifling through their surprisingly large DVD collection. Ever since the Winchesters had found a more…permanent base of operations, he had begun 'liberating' certain movies during their travels. He wasn't sure when exactly Sam had noticed, but soon enough some of Sam's favourites began to appear on the shelves. It was nice, he reflected, to finally involve Cas in human things, to show him the things he and Sammy liked. He was also admittedly excited that Cas would finally understand some of the references that Dean made on a daily basis. Cas and Sam soon followed behind him, and settled themselves on opposite sofas. Dean put the DVD into the player and settled down next to Cas as the familiar opening credits began to roll.

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

_It is a period of civil war. _

_Rebel Spaceships, striking from a hidden base…_

Dean felt himself relax into the sofa, and about 5 minutes later felt Cas do the same.

'How is it that a tin can on wheels has intelligence?"

"It's R2D2 Cas, roll with it."

"Why are the soldiers fighting each other?"

"Geez didn't you read the introduction?"

"Why does the tall man in black need to use breathing apparatus?"

And so on, for the next half an hour. It turned out, to Dean's annoyance, that Cas was one of those people who needed a constant commentary alongside the movie to understand what was happening. Despite being a little exasperated, he did his best to answer all of Castiel's questions. He really did want Cas to like the movie, after all. He and Sam settled into a rhythm of answering his questions alternately, and had gotten so used to Cas's chattering that his drift into silence was quite noticeable.

"Cas man, you good?" He inquired, watching the blue eyed man's eyelids begin to droop.

"Yes, Dean, I am fine." He replied drowsily. Dean nodded, and returned his attention to the television, reciting Han Solo's lines alongside the movie.

"You are such a nerd." Sam chuckled quietly.

"Coming from you." Dean scoffed. He smiled internally. He was secretly thrilled that Sam had begun to forgive him for letting him be possessed by an angel, and was looking forward to getting back to hunting with his baby brother. Not that he'd ever tell Sam that. He couldn't stand all that mushy feelings crap that Sam and sometimes Cas tried to extricate from him.

He was so engrossed in the movie, he almost didn't realise when Cas started snoring quietly, head pressed against the sofa. No, He thought, snoring wasn't the right word, that would be too masculine for the sounds Cas was making. They were more like the gurgles a baby would make. Dean smiled, exhaling air from his nose.

"Hey Sammy, we should totally record this." He spoke quietly so as not to wake up the sleeping fallen angel. Sam smiled, but his tone was disapproving

"Let him sleep Dean, God knows he's been through enough."

"What should we…" Dean trailed off, wondering what to do about their sleeping friend. He thought about trying to carry him to his room, but quickly laughed that off, Cas was a grown man he could get himself to his own goddamn room. He looked so peaceful though; drooling slightly on to the sofa, Dean almost couldn't bear to wake the poor guy up. He decided to wait until the end of the movie.

The end credits began to roll as Luke blew up the Death Star, and Dean got up and shook his sleeping friend's shoulder slightly.

"Hey, Cas, Dude, Wake up." He said softly. Cas groaned quietly, nuzzling his head closer into the sofa. "Cas, c'mon." Dean said more forcefully. His eyelids fluttered open, lidded with sleep. Then they widened, and upon realising he was drooling on the upholstery, Cas gave an undignified yelp and leapt to his feet.

"I apologise, Dean, Sam. I just felt so tired all of a sudden and…" He trailed off.

"It's no trouble, Cas, sleep whenever you want. It's not like our sleeping patterns are exactly normal." Sam joked, gesturing at Dean.

"But it is a shame I could not stay awake to the movie's completion." Cas said.

"Don't sweat it, since you're a resident at chez Winchester now I bet you'll see Star Wars so many times you'll be sick of it." Dean joked, although how anyone could get sick of such a cinematic masterpiece was beyond him.

"Speaking of sleep, I'm gonna turn in now." he said, yawning. He privately doubted he'd fall asleep within the next five hours, the hunter's mind never knew how to switch off.

"I'm going to do some research before bed, see if I can find us a job." Sam said. Dean could tell he was itching to get back out on in field just as much as Dean himself was.

"I will likewise go to sleep now." Castiel said, bleary eyed. Dean placed an arm on his friend's shoulder. "You rest up, buddy." He said, and with that he turned and headed down the hall towards his bedroom. "G'night." Dean called over his shoulder, disappearing from view. Sam nodded once to Cas before leaving the living room presumably to go do some research, leaving Castiel standing alone.

"Good night." He heard the ex-angel say quietly to no one in particular, his voice reverberating slightly off the Men of Letters Bunker's Walls.

And with that, he heard Cas padding down the dark hallway to his new bedroom.


	2. Home improvements

**A/N- Again, unbeta'd so sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes! Thank you to all those who followed/faved, it means the world to me! I've already finished chapters 1-5, so ill post each after some reviews/rates hopefully! 3**

**-Noonie xoxo**

-Chapter two "Home improvements"-

Castiel woke up with a start from his seventh sleep since taking up residence in the Men of Letters bunker. Sleep was difficult for him. It wasn't so much the falling asleep that bothered him, no, that he found a pleasant sensation. It was the waking up, realising that he was still human with this feeling of _weight_. When he'd been an angel, he'd been as light as a feather. Even in his darkest hours there was still this warmth, this _radiance_ inside of him burning like a thousand silver suns. But now he felt like he trod in boots made of lead, each simple daily task taking a previously unknown amount of effort.

He rubbed his sleep laden eyes and pushed himself upright, gravity conspiring against him to pull him back into the plush mattress that Dean had gotten for him two nights ago, mumbling something about how it would 'remember' him. Castiel checked the clock on the nightstand, which read _5:28_am. He yearned to just lie back and fall asleep again, as it happened he was quite a heavy sleeper, but lately he'd been plagued with nightmares. Last night's had featured fiery falling angels taking out their revenge on him with red-hot pokers. Castiel shuddered at the memory and hauled himself out of bed, dressing himself meticulously in his suit and trench coat attire to feel some semblance of normality.

He exited his sparse room and quietly headed down the hallway to the well-stocked kitchen, intended to cook himself some breakfast. Curiously Castiel found himself to be rather capable at cooking, a skill he previously had had no need of acquiring. He admitted privately that it might be due to the obscene amounts of television he had been watching over the past week when Dean and Sam had been away hunting. The cooking channel was pleasingly mind numbing and was always available when there was nothing else on to watch; Castiel found himself quite enjoying it, much to his embarrassment.

The Bunker kitchen was made from a cool sand-coloured stone the rest of the place was hewn from, and contained many shelves and storage units made from the same rich mahogany wood that the Men of Letters seemed to have loved so dearly. The shelves were laden with an eclectic mix of jars and spices that seem to start at oregano and cinnamon and end up somewhere at fairy toenail clippings and goofa dust. Castiel reached for a frying pan among the brass, copper and tin pots and pans hung up on the wall just above the hob. Padding to the pantry and selecting the suitable ingredients, he turned his attention to suitably crisping up some bacon rashers as well as two eggs, sunny side up. He probably wouldn't eat most of it, but he felt more in control of his life if he at least went through the motions of being a normal human.

The hissing of the oil must've alerted the Winchester brothers of his waking, because the two seemed to be inexplicably drawn to the scent of frying bacon.

"Morning, Cas." Dean nodded, looking wide awake in a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and a faded ACDC t-shirt. Sam, albeit properly dressed, seemed to be similarly energized.

"Yeh morning Cas." Sam echoed, eyeing the bacon.

"Good morning, Sam, Dean, I trust you had a good nights sleep?" Castiel inquired.

"Mm," Dean waved the question off, "You're up early?"

"Yes, I had a bad dream." He said quietly. Dean's brow furrowed and he studied Castiel concernedly, although he said nothing.

"Have you been up long?" Castiel asked absentmindedly while shuffling bacon side to side in the copper pan. Guilty looks flashed across both Dean and Sam's faces. Sam ran his hand through his hair and Dean rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. Castiel knew their tells; he had no doubt that neither brother had slept more than four hours, but he had to concede that they functioned perfectly well under such circumstances. Habit, he supposed. An odd urge to please quite alien to Castiel filled him suddenly, and he found himself asking lightly "Would either of you care for some breakfast? I am quite capable of cooking anything you would like." The two brothers look surprised, mouths gaping, and shared a hard to identify look with each other. Dean fixed him with a wide smile, and walked up to Castiel and ruffled his hair, to his annoyance. "Would you look at that, a week living with us and you're so cute and domesticated! Like our own personal chef!" Dean laughed.

"If you would not like anything that is perfectly fine, it was only an offer." Castiel said coolly, not sure how he liked being referred to as 'cute'. He smoothed his newly dishevelled hair back into place.

"It was only a joke, Cas. I'd love some bacon and eggs, if you're offering." Dean gestured happily to the pan.

"I could go for the same, if that's alright." Sam said.

"Oh and maybe some pancakes while you're at it." Dean added cheekily.

"Of course, Dean." Castiel rolled his eyes, heading back to the pantry.

Twenty minutes later, a massive belch erupted from Dean's mouth as he leaned back into his chair, feet on the table in what Castiel could only refer to as Dean's post nourishment pose.

"That was great Cas, If you live here I'm gonna' get so fat." Dean smiled contentedly.

"Well yeh dude, you just polished off an entire stack of five mattress sized pancakes." Sam admonished, gesturing to Dean's (now empty) syrup and butter covered plate.

"Shut up, it was worth every bite, bitch." Dean replied. Sam raised his eyebrow but didn't deign to give the usual reply. Dean turned to face Castiel fully

"Seriously though, Cas, thanks." He said genuinely. Then his face lit up. "Hey how about we do that IKEA trip today? S'not like we've got a job today and after that close call with that succubus yesterday-"

"Wouldn't of happened if you could keep it In your-"

"Shush Sammy, I said to never mention it again" Dean threw him a glare, before continuing on "So how about it, Cas? Room refurbishment? I could use some new bed sheets anyway."

"That would not be required Dean if you were to actually wash your bed sheets." Castiel replied, to which Sam laughed and Dean pulled a face. A trip to a furniture store? Surprisingly the idea appealed to Castiel. It was a human experience Castiel had not had before, and it would be nice to have some possessions for his room that he could call his own. Although he was not sure what he'd buy, decorating was not a skill he could name one of his own. Castiel found himself nodding. "Yes, I suppose. I mean, I would like that." He said.

"Great, let's go." Dean hopped up.

"Dude." Sam said with a frown.

"What now, Sammy?" Dean sighed. Sam gestured at Dean's attire while Dean stared uncomprehendingly.

"I think what Sam means to say is that your current attire leaves something to be desired." Castiel explained. Dean looked down, as if only just noticing his ragged sweatpants and faded t-shirt.

"Oh, right. I'll go change, be right up." He said, sounding embarrassed, probably at the prospect of almost going into the outside, women-filled world looking like a homeless person.

"Dean?" Castiel called to him as he was halfway down the corridor. He turned and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You have syrup on your face." Castiel said, prompting Sam to snort and Dean to flip Castiel a rude gesture with his middle finger.

In no less than twenty minutes, the duo had located the nearest IKEA and driven there with such speed that Castiel was sure was more than illegal. Sam had opted not to come, claiming that he had some research to do on his laptop. Dean had given Castiel a lewd, implicit wink but he did not particularly understand why. Dean had uttered the words 'pizza man' and immediately Castiel felt the tips of his ears getting hot and a blush creeping up his neck. Dean seemed hadn't seem phased though, and had all but leaped into his beloved impala and started playing some extremely loud, guitar riff heavy rock music that Castiel struggled to identify. He was coming to know the names of a few of Dean's favourite bands, having no other choice than travelling via the impala due to his lack of wings. Dean then proceeded to sing along loudly, and sometimes off key, much to Castiel's secret amusement. Sometimes he wished he could sing along, but his gruff, resonant voice was simply not meant for such activities. Castiel remembered how a while ago, merely a whisper from him could smash glass and cause human ears to bleed. Yes, it was definitely best if he did not sing.

"Hello, Earth to Cas? You ready?" Dean asked while waving a hand in front of Castiel's face, puncturing his reverie. To his surprise, they had already reached their destination and the impala was already parked among a sea of pick up trucks. He quickly nodded, straightening his trench coat as he stood up and slammed shut the impala door. Him and Dean walked through the massive, oppressing looking concrete carpark, towards an equally huge warehouse, gaudily outfitted in yellow and blue and sporting a neon 'IKEA' sign.

"I haven't been here since me and Sammy were little. Dad used to swing by sometimes, drop us off here for a bit while he went off." Dean remarked.

"Your father left you in a Home Improvement store?"

"Hey it wasn't that bad," Dean said defensively. "These places are huge and packed with hours worth of entertainment. Plus, best meatballs EVER."

"Why is it food always seems to have priority in your life, Dean?"

"What can I say? I'm a simple man. Eating, sleeping, chicks and killing things. The perfect life." Castiel chuckled a little at this

"Don't forget to mention dying, you seem to be fairly accomplished at dying. How many times have you been brought back?" Dean scowled and playfully shoved him before muttering "Mmph, lost count." The thought struck him that the older Winchester was marginally less reserved around Castiel when his younger brother wasn't present, which puzzled him. _Oh well_, he thought, _musn't make something of nothing_.

As they entered the giant structure, Castiel was blasted with white light from glaring industrial sized ceiling lamps. He looked around, and had to concede he was impressed at the sheer volume of…_stuff_ they had managed to cram in to one place. There were shelves on one side were stacked as tall as a small building, loaded with tools and materials, a lighting section which twinkled like stars, comforting looking home goods, and even a village like collection of model rooms. Castiel, for one, thought it rather odd to have a model bathroom in the middle of a shop.

"Sweet, they still have meatballs. I'll be up there," Dean pointed to the cafeteria on the balcony of the second floor, "when you're ready, got it?" Castiel looked at him, wide eyed and uncomprehending. There was so much _stuff_, what was he meant to do? Was there a protocol when it came to these things?

"Have fun." Dean slapped his shoulder, then spun on his heel and stalked towards the elevator to the cafeteria.

"Wait! Dean!" Castiel called.

"What, Cas?" Dean turned exasperatedly, as if Castiel was purposely standing between him and his meatballs.

"I – What do I do?" He asked helplessly. Dean smiled at what must have been the clueless, wide eyed look on Castiel's face.

"Geez, Cas, you really are like a baby in a trench coat." Dean walked back past him and flung something on wheels towards him. "Here's a shopping cart, and this," He rummaged around in his jean pockets, withdrawing and handing Castiel a piece of rectangular plastic, "is your credit card, Mr, um, Ishmael." He said as he read the name on the card. "We'll have to get you one of your own, I suppose, along with an I.D…" Dean trailed off, sighing at Castiel's still clueless look.

"Just buy whatever you like, ya' know, your personality and personal tastes. It ain't rocket science dude."

"My personal tastes?" Castiel questioned.

"Yeh, you know, whatever makes you happy." Dean mumbled. Castiel nodded, and pushed the cart towards the centre of the store with intrepidation.

"Roam free, Cas, like a gazelle! Gallop through the wide open spaces!" Dean shouted at his back, laughing to himself more than anyone else.

"Whatever makes me happy." Castiel repeated, lips curling into a small smile.

**CASTIEL**

What made Castiel happy, as it turned out, was cushions. Lots and lots of cushions. After a brief sojourn in the lighting section he'd spent a long time in the miscellaneous section. Then followed a confused stumble around the labyrinth that was the DIY section, after which Castiel had found himself in the Bedding section completely by accident. When he'd seen the rows and rows of soft, fluffy looking cushions, he couldn't help himself. After stroking every single one in an attempt to choose two or three for his bed, He found himself unable to decide, and, deciding to throw caution to the wind, gleefully threw eleven into the now overflowing shopping cart. He wasn't entirely sure they'd all fit on his modest double bed, but he was sure he'd find a place for all of them. One could never have enough cushions, after all. The bedding section held his attentions for another half an hour, in which he deliberated over the pros and cons of Egyptian cotton and considered carefully what colour duvet cover he should purchase. After a painstakingly long time in thought, he made his final decision and wheeled the cart over in the direction of the checkouts.

"D'you find everything you were lookin' for, sir?" the mildly overweight, balding cashier asked him as Castiel unloaded the contents of the cart onto the conveyer belt.

"Yes, thank you." He nodded politely.

"Cushions?" The man questioned, raising an inquisitive eyebrow while incredulously scanning the barcodes of eleven fuzzy scatter cushions.

"Cushions." Castiel said warily, unsure of the sort of reply the question warranted.

"Heh, I bet it's the missus. My missus has an obsession with the things. I say to her they're unnecessary but she won't hear a word, even though I have to throw the damn things on the floor at night just to pick them up the next day. It's a women's world, I tell ya'." The Cashier joked. Castiel kept nodded politely, making a half-hearted sound of agreement while surreptitiously patting his now bagged cushions as if to assure them they were still loved.

"Paper or plastic?" The man asked. Not too long ago Castiel would've probably been confused by this question and would've began to discuss his views on the multi-facteted usefulness of plastic versus regular paper, but he'd been human long enough to know better. Pulling out the credit card from the pocket of his trench coat, he handed it cautiously to the cashier.

"Mr, uhm, Ishmael?" He looked at Castiel, who was clearly not Arabic, questioningly. He nodded meekly and perhaps a little too quickly. Shrugging, the man swiped the plastic rectangle and all was well. Once all his items were packed he quickly shuffled away from the cashier man and hauled the five large plastic bags up the stairs in the direction of the cafeteria.

"Dean, I am finished, you may drive me home now." He said, placing his bags at his feet next to Dean's table. Dean looked up from what appeared to be his second slice of pie. "What took you so long, Cas, you were like four-" He began, before his eyes widened at the abundance of bags at Castiel's feet. "Jesus, did you buy the whole shop?" Dean blurted in surprise.

"But you said to buy whatever you wanted." Castiel said, affronted, bottom lip jutting out slightly. He was not used to all these human tendencies to say one thing and mean another. It seemed that there existed some sort of implicit subtext or code of which all humans were intuitively aware of, one which governed all interaction and social situations. At times Castiel, even at his full angelic capacity, felt overwhelmed by the amount of information he had to take in and assimilate to appear 'human'. He suddenly felt a wave of fatigue overcome him, as if the past few weeks efforts had caught up with him. As long as he was occupied, he could almost forget his situation, but whenever he thought about it too much, a sinking, exhausted feeling crept up on him and he felt empty.

"Yeh well I didn't expect you to buy the whole goddamn store-" Dean paused, looking at Castiel's suddenly hunched formed and frowning. "Dude you looked wrecked, pull up a chair." He motioned to the empty tables around them. Castiel unceremoniously dropped his bags to the floor and grabbed the nearest chair, a hideous thing with a fraying seat of blue and yellow plastic laminate that looked as if it had been picked at repeatedly. He sighed as he slumped back into the chair, rubbing his now aching temples.

"You alright, Cas?" Dean asked concerned, green eyes boring into Castiel's. Castiel had to bite back the hysterical laugh that had bubbled to his lips. He didn't think he'd ever been so far from 'alright'. Not when he had to battle through hell's gates to raise Dean Winchester, not when he had temporarily become God, not when he'd lost his memory, and not when he was in purgatory. At least then he still had power. When he was a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, he could make feelings go away. Well, he could not exactly get rid of them, but worldly matters seemed… distant. Like he was a giant looking down on an ant, the giant does not concern himself with the ant's business. That's what he was now- an ant. Never before had he been so fundamentally useless. He secretly feared that Dean and Sam would tire of him when they realised how much of a burden he was now. That was partly why he was making an effort to learn human things, like cooking, so he could at least take care of Sam and Dean despite his frail human state. Without his grace, he was no warrior. In addition, he found it useful to occupy himself to help him forget about his problems. Admittedly he had enjoyed his first shopping expedition today, although it was still somewhat strangely domestic.

"I'm fine, Dean." He said coolly.

"Really?" Dean asked doubtfully, "Cos' those bags beneath your eyes tell a different story." Castiel turned and hid his face away from Dean. "You been sleeping?"

"Well enough." Castiel retorted, willing himself to defiantly meet Dean's intense gaze. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Dean was the first to drop his gaze in defeat.

"Mmkay then." He sounded unconvinced, but thankfully dropped the issue and shovelled the last massive forkful of apple pie into his mouth.

"Mmmhph shud go." The hunter said through a mouthful of pie, standing up and using visible effort to swallow the amount of food he had just eaten. He then flashed Castiel his trademark cocky grin, and picked up all of Castiel's bags like they weighed nothing. Castiel almost sighed at Dean's aversion to emotional conversation, however at least it meant that the older Winchester would not press him too much about whether he was okay or not. Sam however, was not so easily dissuaded and Castiel fully expected the younger brother to corner him at some point and try to get him to 'open up' or something along those lines.

He stood up, smoothed the wrinkles in his white shirt and hurriedly went after Dean, who was already halfway out the store with Castiel's five massive bags in tow. Castiel was blasted by a wave of humidity as he exited the air conditioned store. It was mid-summer in Kansas and the scorching heat caused the tarmacked surface of the parking lot to ripple slightly like a mirage. He shifted uncomfortably in his trench coat as he began to overheat. He made a beeline for the impala where Dean was already stowing the bags in the trunk. Castiel slid into the car, mercifully in the shade, but unfortunately the leather interior had been warmed by the sun and it was almost as hot and sticky inside as it was outside. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably, breaking out into a small sweat. This was another thing he didn't have to deal with as an angel; previously he didn't feel hot or cold.

"Can't handle the heat, huh Cas?" Dean smirked as he slid in next to him, throwing one hand behind the passengers seat and relaxing into his own, one hand on the wheel. Castiel had to admit that the older Winchester had style. Certainly more than Sam, anyway, who could sometimes be, how did Dean phrase it, a 'dweeb'.

"It is not that I am unable to handle the temperature, I am merely…unaccustomed to it, that is all."

"What, your angel mojo stop you from getting hot or something?" Dean remarked, pulling out onto the freeway. He was greeted with a stony silence.

"Seriously?" Dean took his silence as affirmation "huh, weird. I guess you learn something new everyday." The former angel looked dejectedly out the open window, letting the sweet summer breeze whip over his face.

"It's not that bad. It won't always be this hot. There are days when the sun is just right - I mean it feels like your floating in water cos' it's the same temperature outside your body as it is inside, like being in the womb or some shit. And there are lazy days, when the sun just drifts by and you can feel it on your skin like you're warm right down to your bones. Man, I could watch the sun forever on those days. I remember this one summer- I guess I was about 13 and Sammy around 9- our Dad was working a job somewhere in Oklahoma or maybe to drink, I don't know. He left us behind, and Sammy and me just lay out in a park somewhere in Oklahoma City, all day in the sun, eating ice cream. I told him he should put some sun block on but he wasn't having any of it. Poor kid ended up so burnt he looked like a piece of goddamn streaky bacon." Dean reminisced, chuckling. He sighed, lost in the happy memory. Castiel said nothing, smiling slightly at the contented look on his friend's face, a look that did not make an appearance often.

"Sorry, didn't mean to ramble, it's just, damn, everything used to be so simple, back when the worst thing out there were the monsters under the bed." Dean said, snapping out of his trip down memory lane.

"It does indeed seem that way." Castiel commented.

"Freakin' angels and demons, man."

"I am sorry Dean, if I had not interfered in your life, perhaps you wouldn't-" He started

"Bullshit, Cas, don't put this on yourself. Sam and me, we're Winchesters. Destiny is a bitch and she's always had it in for us, angels or no angels."

"I suppose." He said, unconvinced.

It was true that the brothers seemed inexplicably drawn to danger. Even when things seemed to calm down for a while, there always seemed to be another enemy, another war, something else that dragged them back into the fray. Castiel had sometimes watched over Dean during his time with Lisa, and he was happy that Dean had found a normal, safe life, even if just for a little while. Admittedly, he had missed the hunters company, but he had promised himself that he would stay out of Dean's life and let him be normal (not that Dean Winchester, with two trips to Hell and several more to Heaven under his belt, could ever be considered ordinary.)

"Anyway, right now it's just me, you, Sammy, and that little dweeb Kevin." Dean said, "One perfectly normal, happy family." He chuckled.

"I do not think we fit into that category, Dean." He tilted his head, confused.

"It's called sarcasm, Cas, God and here's me thinking your sense of humour had improved." Dean remarked. He felt offended, Castiel _was_ improving in regards to being able to discern sarcasm and jokes from normal speech, but the brothers, Dean especially, used sarcasm so often that most of the time he wasn't even sure if they themselves knew they were being sarcastic

"I'm trying my best." Castiel said so softly he wasn't sure if Dean had heard. The other man merely turned up the rock music that had been playing quietly in the background, and started humming long with a goofy smile on his face. He thought it might be Led Zeppelin, but honestly he found it hard to tell as rock music had only existed for a minute fraction of his lifespan of several million years. Castiel leaned a little towards the window, allowing the sun to warm him face and the wind to tousle his hair; the rest of the way back to the bunker was spent in companionable silence.

Twenty minutes later, Castiel followed Dean through the door to bunker, IKEA bags in hand.

"Sammy! You here?" Dean barked from atop the curved mahogany stairs. Castiel was again struck by the impressive view that he was greeted with every time he entered the Men of Letters bunker. He remembered his first visit: the intricate wrought iron railings of the grand spiral staircase as you first came in cast a patterned shadow on the rich wooden floors. The spacious front room was hewn from sandstone, but the sharp lines were offset by the warm lighting in the main room which was full to bring of books and ancient tomes detailing everything from ancient Apachi Indian summoning rituals to a compendium of Supernatural beings. While this appealed more the Sam, for Dean there was even an extensive garage of vintage cars with various paranormal modifications _and _a room of similarly altered weapons ranging from a blunderbuss that fired venomous flaming bullets to a solid silver katana blessed by a Shinto priest. He remembered thinking that the bunker was nicer than some people's heavens.

'Huh, his car's still here." Dean commented when Sam's reply did not come. The two men made their way down the stairs through the main room to the library. Castiel's ears pricked and he became aware of a soft, slow breathing sound coming from the far corner. Dean must've heard it too, as he headed towards the sound to investigate. A smile tugged at his lips as he saw none other than Sam Winchester, a muscled six foot four behemoth of a man, curled up with a leather bound papyrus book on his lap. A blanket was draped over his lap and his long auburn hair flopped into his eyes. A little bit of drool had escaped the corner of his mouth and made a slight stain on the green crushed velvet armchair he was sitting in. His laptop whirred quietly beside him; various paraphernalia was scattered across the table.

"He's like a freaking giant teddy bear." Dean chuckled, pulling his camera phone out of his pocket. He wiggled his eyebrows and Castiel and lined the phone up to take a picture, grinning impishly at his brother's expense. A bright flash accompanied by a loud clicking sound from the phone caused Sam to jerk violently out of his seat and reach for his gun, which he apparently did not have on his person because he was currently pointing a finger gun and Castiel and Dean.

"Damnit Dean, I could've shot you!" Sam cried as he finally came to and realised his life was not under immediate threat.

"Yeh, you mean with that bad boy you got there?" Dean motioned to Sam's finger gun. As if only just realising he was not in possession of an actual gun, he broke his hands apart and scowled what Dean would call a 'bitch face' and mumbled something which sounded like 'shut up'.

"So, uh, good trip then?" the younger Winchester asked, nodding to Castiel's bags.

"Oh yes, the joys of furniture shopping were not lost on me." He intoned.

"He took like four freaking hours." Dean said irritatedly, although Castiel could tell he wasn't being genuine through his smiling eyes.

"It was a fruitful excursion. Now, would you boys excuse me while I make use of these." He raised his carrier bags.

"Heh, go for it." Dean smiled. Castiel turned around and strode towards his room, trench coat flapping behind him.

"Maybe next we can get you to redecorate the lounge! Some new curtains maybe?" Dean shouted mockingly to his back.

"Shut up, Dean." He grumbled, but inside he was smiling.

An hour later, Castiel was sprawled out over his bed, enjoying the fruits of his labour. He has pushed his bed into the corner of the room up against the wall and draped some sort of silky material canopy overhead. His midnight blue bed covers were covered in scatter cushions. The cashier at IKEA had turned out to be prophetic, as Castiel had had to put nearly all his beloved cushions on the floor in order for there to be enough room for him to lay comfortably on his bed. He'd bought a rug to cover some of the cold stone floor which was always freezing underfoot the bare soles of his feet in the morning despite it being midsummer; If the Men of Letters had underfloor heating, the Winchesters had blatantly not figured out how to use it.

Purely on a whim he had bought some small, twinkly lights that flickered slightly and gave the impression of stars at night time. It was like almost like being an angel again. For the final touch, he was going to stick a faded and crinkled photo on the wall; the only one he'd ever owned. It featured Sam, Dean and him and had been taken in front of a cowboy-esque shooting gallery, one of those ones where you shot the angry looking Indians for prizes.

Castiel remembered the day it had been taken: The brothers were hunting a ghost who was ironically haunting a ghost train ride in a small travelling theme park outside Utah, during one of their better periods of camaraderie. Castiel had been called to settle an argument that had sprung from the shooting competition, with both Winchester's claiming to be the better marksman. A slightly intimidating cowboy gypsy (or traveller, as he had learned they liked to be called) had taken the picture mid dispute. Sam looked exasperated, Dean was pulling a ridiculous pouting face in a mockingly provocative stance, and Castiel was looking confusedly at the camera with his mouth open, having not known what the phrase 'Say cheese' meant.

Despite one corner of the photograph being slightly bloodstained (having been kept in Castiel's trench coat breast pocket for the best part of a year) he was happy to have one physical representation of better times. He almost cradled it in his hands-memories were now very precious to him, being mortal. He was going to age and die one day; he had to start appreciating his time with his friends more.

"Hey Cas, man, you nearly d-" Dean began as he barged through the door, stopping as he noticed the photo in Castiel's hands. Castiel's eyes widened like a deer trapped in headlights, and he felt his face heat up as if Dean had walked in on him doing something unspeakable.

"You- You kept that photo?" Dean asked incredulously, his tone gentle.

"Ah- yes, well I, um." He stuttered, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

"Don't worry Cas, just bustin' your balls, s'cute." Dean mummered. A few seconds later, as if realising what he had just said, his head snapped up and he looked around twitchily. "I just meant, um, it's…nice? Nice you want to remember times with me. Us. Times with us." The words began tumbling out of Dean's mouth

"I mean, this room, right? It's like, you in a way and how you're a human now but that's not necessarily a bad thing and I-well, me and Sammy we can teach you but you-well we've fought Leviathans and Gods and _freakin' _Angels so I don't see how being a human could be much harder and I'm glad that if you have to suffer that- Sorry." Dean dived out the door midsentence as if to stop his verbal diarrhoea, leaving Castiel very confused yet also quite touched that the older Winchester had opened up to him, well, almost.


	3. Adventures In Retail

**A/N sorry about the short chapters, I'll try and make them longer I promise! Also prepare for the angst incoming, this'll be the last chapter of pure fluff! Again, PLEASEEE rate and review, fellow authors will know how much it means to me! 3**

**-Noonie **

-Chapter Three- "Adventures in Retail"

Dean ran a grease-slicked hand through his hair as he sipped on a cold beer on his Impala's hood, his overalls covered in machine oil. A merciful breeze cooled his face, which was currently covered by a thin film of sweat, a drop rolling down the side of his face and tumbling off his upper lip. The unforgiving Kansas sunshine beat down in full force upon his back and made his Baby smell of hot leather and metal, and machine oil.

To Dean, there was no better smell.

He'd dragged Cas outside as he was beginning to look like he needed some serious vitamin D. The former angel was currently sitting in a fold up chair, humming along softly to the radio and reading a battered copy of '_To Kill a Mockingbird_' that he may or may not have found in the bunker library.

Dean vaguely remembered studying the book at some point in high school. He used the term 'studying' loosely as there was no way in hell Dean Winchester would be caught doing a homework assignment, and since he attended on average seven different schools every year, it wasn't like he needed to.

Moreover, he just couldn't bring himself to enjoy reading. Truth be told he was a little jealous of Sam and the nerd angel (or ex-angel, he should say) who actually enjoyed it. He'd always been so focused killing things and banging hot chicks that he'd ignored a large part of his education and consequently felt really stupid sometimes. It was alright when it was just him and Sammy; he could always play the big brother card, but with Cas now in picture, his lack of knowledge was just embarrassing.

Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

"Cas, get me a refill?" Dean asked as his second beer became tragically empty. The smaller man didn't look up though, seeming engrossed in his book. Dean could've sworn he started humming louder.

"Cas? Cas!" He all but shouted. Yet still there came no reply. Dean stalked over to where he sat, and waved an emphatic hand in front of his face. Cas' lip curled ever so slightly up at one corner, just enough that Dean knew he was ignoring him.

"You're hilarious man. Really, real mature."

"I don't know what you're implying Dean." He finally spoke, faking innocence, eyes all big and blue and-

That train of thought swiftly cut off, he tried to remember why he wanted the other man's attention in the first place. _Oh yeah, _thought Dean, _for beer. _

"I asked for a refill." Dean said, batting his eyelashes, the way he did whenever he wanted to get free drinks from a female bartender (a few times he'd sunk so low as to execute the same technique on gay male bartenders…but hey, a free drink was a free drink, right?)

"Why thank you Dean, I'd love one." Cas handed Dean his empty lemonade glass, complete with mini umbrella. "I'd love some more ice as well."

"Wait what?" Dean spluttered, helplessly taking the glass.

"Lemonade, preferably with ice." Cas didn't even look up from the novel on his lap.

"But I-"

"Please?" He looked up at Dean and tilted his head like a lost little boy.

"Oh for the love of- whatever, fine." He yielded, turning on his heels and marching towards the concrete bunker door a few hundred feet away.

"Remember the ice!" Cas had the nerve to shout at his back.

Dean muttered something under his breath akin to 'frikin' demanding a-hole', and slammed the bunker door behind him, breezing past his brother in the library towards the kitchen.

"Dean, ah, can you get me some coffee if you're going to the kitchen?" Sam shouted at him.

"Jesus Christ on a bike I am not everyone's frikin' errand boy, bitch!" Dean threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Jerk" Came the faint, entirely premeditated reply. He wasn't sure when this sort of ritual banter had started between him and Sam, but it was sort of comforting in a weird way.

He began humming Eye of the Tiger under his breath while pouring more lemonade into Cas' glass. Without even realising it, he'd already put the kettle on the stove and put two teaspoons of instant coffee into a mug for Sam.

Oh God, he _was _becoming an errand boy.

We_ seriously need to get a microwave_, Dean thought. Heating things via the stove took forever. Well, like three minutes as opposed to one. But those three minutes always felt like twenty to Dean. He impatiently tapped his foot.

When the kettle began to sing, he poured some into Sam's coffee and swirled some milk in there as well as adding a shot of Hazelnut syrup that his dork of a brother loved. Plonking another cocktail umbrella in Cas' drink, because hey, why not, he carried the drinks out of the kitchen.

"Huh, I didn't think you'd actually make me one." Sam commented incredulously as he placed the drink in between the ancient parchments scattered across the massive mahogany table.

"Don't get used to it." He grumbled.

"Maybe Cas is having a domesticating effect on you." Sam mused

"I am _not _being 'domesticated' or whatever, you're looking at a pure all American untameable man here."

"Dean, you just made me a coffee and Cas a lemonade with a damn _umbrella_." Sam snorted.

"Everyone's a critic!" He climbed up the wrought iron spiral staircase.

He was hit square in the face by a sticky blast of humid air as he ventured back outside.

"Thank you, Dean." Cas intoned as Dean placed the lemonade next to him. He grunted in reply, and picked up his wrench from where he left it, intending to continue his bi-weekly maintenance of the Impala. Before he turned, however, a trickle of sweat down the side of Cas's face caught his eye.

Come to think of it, the nerdy little man seemed to be sweating profusely, surely he was uncomfortable?

"Hey Cas, don't you think the whole suit get up is a little bit hot for this weather?" He remarked.

"Thank you for your concern but I am perfectly comfortable in my usual attire." Cas paradoxically pulled his collar away from his neck, demonstrating that he was not in fact comfortable. Dean caught a quick glimpse of the slightly red chafed skin under his shirt, and frowned.

"Dude, your obviously not, it's like a bajillion degrees out."

"I'm fine" Cas repeated "And it's not as if I have any other clothes." He said the second part so quiet that Dean almost didn't hear.

No other clothes? Wait, that's right, when Cas had his mojo he didn't feel hot or cold and he could insta-poof his suit clean. How could he not have noticed this before? _That's it_, Dean thought, _we're going clothes shopping._

"Well that is just unacceptable. Man needs some comfy clothes."

"Dean, really, I am f-"

"Don't you dare say fine! We are not discussing this. Get up, we're gonna' get you some clothes." Dean said forcefully, trying to avoid talking about it too much. It was embarrassing enough having to actually _buy _clothes (the only thing Dean had bought in the last 3 years were some socks and a plain black tee to replace the one that got ripped up by a werewolf). He shuddered to even think about going shopping with another man, it seemed so…not his sort of thing.

Cas sighed with a look of weary resignation that Dean had seen so often on his face as of late. He could see the faint beginnings of frown lines etched onto the shorter mans face.

"I suppose if you deem it necessary." He acquiesced, smoothing down the creases on his starchy white dress shirt.

"I do deem it necessary." Dean held Cas' intense gaze for a while longer than strictly speaking necessary. He had no idea how the whole staring thing had started between him and Cas but these looks always conveyed a thousand words: for example right now Dean could tell that his friend was frustrated that he had to actually buy clothes rather than just poofing up new ones, angry at himself for being human, but thankful that Dean had brought it up because he certainly wouldn't have said anything for fear of being a burden.

"Uh, I'll go get Sam then." Dean grunted, increasing embarrassed about this whole venture. He reckoned it would be less weird if his brother came along because then it wasn't two guys going clothes shopping, it was three. No one could misconstrue that situation, right?

Sam put up a valiant fight but Dean's masterful powers of persuasion eventually won out. Well, if physical persuasion counted that is. He'd half-dragged his brother away from his precious laptop with the vague promise of getting some food on the way back.

Sam said he had 'important work to do' but Dean knew that was bullshit, they'd had a supernatural dry spell of sorts over the past week, it was almost like the paranormal world had made some sort of weird cross-species pact not to cause trouble.

There was no demon trouble either; he'd considered summoning Crowley just to punch him in his smug crumpet-munching face. He supposed that he probably should be concerned about having quasi-withdrawal symptoms from killing things, but hey, he was raised in the life so the urge to kill came with the gig, right?

Anyway, half an hour later they'd managed to locate a reasonably nice and mercifully air-conditioned shopping mall. Safe to say, Dean felt more than out of place among the racks of pristine and well-tailored looking clothing and he feel a similar anxiety radiate of his brother. Their usual work-friendly attire of boots, jeans and more often than not a plaid flannel shirt didn't really fit the bill.

"You like?" Sam joked in a Kazakhstani accent, snatching a fedora and some awfully pretentious pretty boy sunglasses off an adjacent shelf and striking a ridiculous pose with them on.

"Blue steel, Sammy , freakin' blue steel." Dean chuckled.

"Dean, this is not what I had in mind." Cas said hesitantly, eyes wide with an expression that he could only call distress.

"Well thank God, I know you and Sammy are family, but the minute either of you start wearing a fedora I'm disowning you."

He marched his brother and the ex-angel over to a corner of the store which was more his speed: sweats, jeans and t-shirts.

"Ok Cas, so we're just here for the essentials, let's get this over with as quick as possible."

"It was your idea, if you did not want to go then you should not have said-"

"I know what I said! It's just- this doesn't make this any easier. Do I look like a clothes kind of guy to you?"

"It's true, I've been doing his washing since I was 8 and I'm fairly sure he still has the same AC/DC and Metallica tees. The ectoplasm stains still haven't washed out." Sam chipped into the conversation.

"Yeh, exactly. Anyway, I'll let you pick some stuff. Just uh-try for dark colours yeh? Blood is really difficult to get out of light colours." Not that Cas would be bleeding anytime soon if he had anything to say about it, but sometimes things got messy.

"I will keep that in mind, Dean."

"Mmph. Sammy make sure he doesn't pick anything too awful."

"Where you going?" His brother asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm just gonna-I don't know." And he was gone before anyone could say anything else.

Twenty minutes later Dean relocated Cas and Sam at the changing room, Sam waiting outside and Cas just emerging with a bag full of clothing. Cas' eyes swivelled to Dean, a slight smile accompanying his usual gawky expression. His gaze slid down from Dean's face to what he was holding in his hand. Before anyone could say anything, he tossed the shorter man the sweater he'd been holding.

"Saw it on the way back, thought it was alright. Nice colour." Dean grunted, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He saw Cas hold up the sweater to inspect it. It was some sort of cashmere blend and was deep blue in colour.

"It's lovely. Thank you, Dean." His friend said, looking up at Dean and smiling widely. As he smiled back, he internally cringed as he realised the reason he'd picked that colour was that it was the exact same shade of blue as Cas' eyes. How freaking _girly_. He quickly broke his gaze and scuttled towards the checkout.

While the cashier was scanning Cas' stuff, Dean had an opportunity to see what he had picked out. Cas' purchases included two pairs of loose sweatpants, one grey and one navy, socks, underwear, three nondescript tees, some jeans, two sweaters (plus the one Dean had picked) and a dark brown jacket.

On top of that he'd also bought a pair of sturdy looking shoes and some sort of fluffy looking slippers.

When Dean asked about them, he blushed profusely and said that the bunker floors were cold.

"You know we have under floor heating, right?" he said.

"Well you certainly don't seem to have utilised it yet." Cas replied evenly.

"I don't know how to work it." He defended.

"Perhaps turning it on would be a good start?" the blue-eyed man replied sassily.

"S'not like the Men of Letters have a frikin' instructions manual or anything."

"You're a resourceful man, figure it out."

"Hey! Why'd I have to be the one to do all the maintenance?" Dean questioned, affronted.

"Because I make all the meals." Cas said with a wry grin. _Damn_, Dean thought, _he's right._ Cas had become a weirdly good cook, God knows how. He had actually once caught his friend watching the cooking channel, but he'd promptly changed it as soon as Dean had walked in.

"Can't argue with that. I'll look in to it." He conceded.

"You better." Cas quipped, seeming determined to have the last word. Either that, or he wanted to rub Dean's ineptitude in his face.

"Err, not to interrupt but cash or card?" The cashier said hesitantly, looking questioningly between him and Cas. Suddenly aware that he was still holding Cas's gaze, he snapped his head up and whipped his forged credit card out of his back pocket, placing it on the till in one swift movement.

"If you two are finished with your little domestic scene, I'd like to go home now." Sam appeared as they were just finishing paying.

"Shut your pie hole, bitch."

Sam however did not grace him with a reply.

That evening, Cas had cooked some nice juicy t-bone steaks for dinner as per requested by Sam (Dean had bribed Sam to come with them today by saying he could choose what they had for dinner, and was pleasantly surprised with his carrot-crunching rabbit of a brother's choice). Sam had opted for a side salad, whereas Dean had chosen fried and more fries, with a liberal amount of ketchup and no greens anywhere in sight.

The dorky little guy was wearing some of his new clothes- grey sweats, the blue sweater and his slippers. Over it all he had donned a pink lined apron that looked like it was straight out of one of those pictures from the 1950's with the smiling husband in the snappy suit, a doting aproned house wife and 2.5 children.

The dweeb was humming a merry little tune as he fished the fried out of the oven. It was weird seeing him look so casual but also kind of nice…Dean liked Cas more when he didn't seem depressed or display homicidal tendencies, and in that moment, Cas seemed more happy as a human then Dean had ever seen him.

He smiled…it was all working out.

While it was obvious Sam felt guilty about being cooked for all the time, Dean

felt none of the same qualms, and attacked his food with the gusto of a starving man.

"The quantity of food you manage to fit in your mouth Dean frankly shocks me." Sam chuckled.

"Whatever, being able to fit big things in my mouth can come in handy." He replied. Sam's eyebrows seemed to jump through the roof, and it was only after a second that Dean realised the double entendre of what he'd said.

"I didn't mean it-like-like _that_!" He stuttered, half choking on a mouthful of steak. Sam cracked up with laughter at his brother's expense. Meanwhile Cas just sat there pushing his food around his plate, wide eyed and clueless.

"I do not get it."

"It's a double entendre." Sam broke into fits of laughter.

"Oh, so a word or phrase open to two interpretations, one of which is usually risqué or indecent?" he half-questioned, as if reciting a dictionary entry cleared anything up. "I don't understand where the second bit comes in, what will Dean be fitting into his mouth?"

This only made Sam laugh harder, tears running from the corners of his eyes.

"Well-" Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"Hey! Let's keep his innocence intact for as long as possible."  
"I suppose a bigger mouth could be considered an evolutionary advantage seeming as you could fit more food into your mouth and thus out-eat your competitors but I don't quite-" Cas began.

"Dude, don't ever change."


	4. Chained to a Comet

**A/N warnings: mentions of eating disorders, shameless flirting and drug use. I'm quite happy with how this chapter turned out! A massive thanks to everyone who followed, it makes me feel all fuzzy inside. **

**Much love, **

**-Noonie**

-Chapter four "Chained to a comet"-

Castiel softly hummed an enochian lullaby to himself as he scooped a liberal amount of washing powder and sprinkled it on top of the swathes of dark and plaid clothing in the washing machine. The calming, steady thrum of the tumble dryer sent vibrations throughout the whole room, which was filled with neatly folded piles of clothes in baskets labelled '_Sam_', _'Dean' _and '_Castiel'_ accordingly.

Castiel would be lying if he said he didn't love doing the laundry. He loved the sounds that the glittering white machines made, he loved the smell of clean laundry which wrapped around him like a blanket, and he especially liked the order and neatness of it all. When he'd been living on the streets, these were luxuries he could not have, so now he savoured them. It was these mundane human tasks which gave his weak human existence a purpose and not only did the repetitive nature of tasks like cooking, cleaning and doing laundry take his mind off things, it also allowed him to be of use to Sam and Dean. Years of living on the road rendered them, for the most part, inept at commonplace domestic tasks.

He supposed that as they spent night after night in motel rooms they'd never had any impetus to clean or wash the dishes. When he first moved into the bunker, he had gradually become aware of a building film of dust that covered most everything (save the t.v, laptop and kitchen surfaces which saw the most use). The dishes had begun piling up in the sink, and it had gotten to a point where they formed a vast mountain of copper, brass and china so huge that it was difficult to find the space to actually cook anything.

After one night where no one actually ate anything because of all the detritus in the kitchen, Castiel had finally snapped and taken on both tasks of doing all the cooking and all the washing up. He didn't mind at all, really, and after Sam had profusely apologised and Dean had offered a grunt in apology they both thanked him. It felt nice to be appreciated.

So here he was, at four o'clock in the morning doing laundry alone, naked save for a fluffy white bath towel around his waist. He liked showering and putting fresh clothes on straight away.

As his sleep was almost non-existent, he tended to wander around the bunker, doing odd tasks or watching random shows on television. His favourite past-time was to select a random book from the library and find some corner to curl up in and read. Yesterday he'd finished the series _The History of the English Speaking Peoples_ by Winston Churchill.

Although Castiel had obviously been around long before 1 AD, he hadn't paid much attention to the small island of England, so he found it quite intriguing to learn about the race of peoples who eventually set up America. For his next read, he quite liked the look of an old dusty tome he'd found, bound in what he was fairly was human skin, concerning Mayan Blood magic.

He opened the tumble dryer and took out an armful of toasty clothes. He began to sort through them to find his own jumper and sweats to put on.

"Cas!?" a voice spluttered from behind him. He spun round to see Dean, eyes wide in the doorway.

"Hello, Dean." He said, tilting his head to one side in confusion. Wondering what had made Dean so alarmed, he stood up from where he had been crouching and walked towards the hunter to check if he was alright.

"Dude! Um, clothes?" Dean got out. Castiel frowned, looking down at himself. His towel had shifted ever so slightly, so that almost nothing was left to imagination. He adjusted it appropriately.

"I'm doing laundry." He deadpanned.

"Right, but that doesn't give you an excuse to walk around naked! Humans wear clothes, Cas!"

"I am not in a public area."

"Yes but I can see you!" Dean persisted, eyes glued to Castiel's chest

"And?" he could not see why this was such a problem. It was just anatomy, and besides, Castiel had even carried Dean's soul, his very essence- you couldn't get more naked than that.

"And, just-just put some clothes on!" Dean said, exasperatedly throwing his hands up in the air.

"Well to do that I have to remove the towel. If male form makes you uncomfortable then I suggest you leave."

"Jesus, it's not that I'm uncomfortable it's just common-" Dean started, but he quickly dived out the room as Castiel motioned to remove his towel. He chuckled. It was amusing to see the usually unflappable hunter so flustered. He quickly pulled on his gloriously clean and still-warm clothes and pursued Dean down the corridor.

"You are up early. Usually you would sleep another two hours." Castiel commented as he followed his friend round the corner into the kitchen.

"What can I say, I just woke up rearing to go." Dean spat with such venom that Castiel actually flinched.

"Sorry-I didn't mean to…" Dean quickly got out after seeing the hurt look on his face.

"It's alright, don't worry." Castiel's expression softened. The black rings under the hunter's eyes and his high-strung demeanour were all the signs he needed to deduce that Dean had had a nightmare.

Those were commonplace, here.

He didn't press the issue, instead asking

"Would you like something to eat?"  
"Course, Cas." The older Winchester's face lit up. "You know I live for your cooking."

"I was thinking of trying out peanut butter and banana pancakes, It seems the two would compliment each other, what do you think?" Castiel asked.

"I think you should wake up Sammy. That's his favourite flavour combo. I always made him pb&b sandwiches for school, he ate them every freakin' day, couldn't be without them. I even got sent to a damn correctional boys school for trying to steal some peanut butter and bananas for his lunch." Dean reminisced.

"I do not want to take precious hours of sleep away from your brother. You two don't sleep enough as it is."

"Sorry, mom." Dean joked, but then his face turned serious. "You're not one to talk. I know we haven't said anything, but it's hard to miss you wandering around at night. You haven't been sleeping, Cas."

Castiel turned away uncomfortably, busying himself with collecting the ingredients for the pancakes.

"Ok then, ignore me. Just buy yourself some sleeping drugs or something at the store. You gotta' sleep sometime y'know."

"I-I don't want to." He admitted quietly, tears pricking his eyes.

He felt like a fool. He was the great Castiel, former commander of his garrison, third generation angel. He'd been 'old' by the time the first fish had grown two legs and crawled out of the ocean. Yet the vivid night terrors he experienced when human were practically unbearable. He dreamt of falling, always falling, with flames licking at every inch of skin, leaving weeping trails of purple sores curling round his body.

His was standing with his back to Dean, face angled away with downcast eyes.

"Cas." He heard Dean say softly, but he did not turn around in order to hide the tears that betrayed him.

"Cas, look at me."

He turned and willed himself to meet Dean's gaze. Thankfully, there was no pity in the hunter's green eyes; there was only empathy and compassion. It was a comfort to know that he was around people who could understand him: having spent 50 years in hell, 30 on the rack and 20 torturing others, Dean was well versed in awful dreams.

Dean surprised Castiel by stepping forward and pulling the shorter man into a firm hug. He wasn't used to gestures of affection or any display of emotion from the older Winchester so his first reaction was to pull away, however Dean had encircled him tightly so he couldn't do anything but settle in to the embrace.

Dean smelled very familiar; like leather and the impala and cinnamon. Seeing as Castiel could count the amount of times he'd hugged Dean on his two hands, he decided to fully accept the situation. He leaned into his friend's chest, resting his head on his shoulder and Dean's hand threaded into his hair. A breath he hadn't even known he was holding escaped his mouth as moulded himself into Dean's warm body.

Castiel didn't know how long they had been standing like that when Sam came blundering into the room

"Cas it's four in the morning what are you-" Sam asked, stopping dead as he came into full view of the scene in front him. Dean instantly jerked away from Castiel, who took a similar step back; ears tinged pink as if he'd been caught doing something untoward even though he knew nothing inappropriate was going on.

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?" Sam looked confusedly between him and Dean with an unreadable expression.

"Cas is making peanut butter and banana pancakes, Sammy." Dean skirted the question, putting more distance between himself and Castiel.

"Really?" Sam's face lit up like the 4th of July, instantly forgetting what he had just walked in on.

"Yes, I'll just…get to making those." He said a little stiffly. He walked away from the brothers into the pantry and scooping up flour, eggs milk and sugar. When he walked back into the kitchen, Sam and Dean's heads both swivelled to look at him. They looked like they'd just been in a serious conversation- most likely about Castiel.

The minute Castiel served up stacks of fluffy, butter dripping pancakes, all awkwardness was forgotten (much to his relief). Sam and Dean's plates looked like little mattresses piled on top of each other one by one. He'd caramelised the bananas slightly, distributing them on and around the pancakes accompanied by a liberal scoop of sticky peanut butter.

Sam tucked in like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. Much to his and Dean's amusement, the younger hunter had partly abandoned his healthy regime, or 'rabbit food' as Dean called it. He still ate nutritious foods, but under Castiel's care he'd relaxed a little bit. The Winchester's favourites were all things meat: burgers and steaks and chicken (though Castiel usually tried to grill things instead of frying them, they wouldn't be in their late twenties/low thirties forever.)

He'd also discovered Sam had never grown out of his sweet tooth, he loved pancakes and waffles and desserts that Castiel made, including but not limited to fruit tarts, peach melba, soufflé, pies and pastries.

'Mmph, s'good, Cas." Sam said through a titanic mouthful.

"You flatter me, Sam." Castiel smiled fondly at Sam's expression of childish glee. It filled him with pride that he could, even if it was only for a few minutes, give the Winchesters back some of the joy in life that they'd had stolen from the since childhood by their obsessive hunter of a father.

"Hey, I think it's good too." Dean sounded like a little boy who wanted a share of his siblings praise.

"Thank you as well, Dean." Castiel smiled at him as well, trying to stifle the giggle that was threatening to escape him due to how ridiculous and petulant Dean sounded.

"I'll need to go to the store today, we're running low on almost everything. You two eat like leviathans." He said.

"At least we don't eat people." Dean retorted.

Dean looked up at Castiel expectantly. He suddenly became aware that he was hovering around the table, watching the others eat. He hastily squeezed in next to Dean at the tiny kitchen table, placing his own plate down in front of him. His pancake stack was half the size of the ones he'd dished up for brothers. He found it somewhat uncomfortable to eat in their presence, feeling Dean's watchful eye on him, making sure he got enough to eat.

Yes, Dean was valid in his concerns. No, Castiel was probably not eating enough.

First of all, it didn't help that he had gone all of his life without needing to eat food, so he tended to forget it was a necessary task. Secondly, he had no emotion or pleasure sensations related with food, so to him it was purely mechanical and he would stop as soon as he felt it was enough. And thirdly? Well, in some sick sense, Castiel liked the control he felt from restricting what he ate. It was like he was making a choice that influenced his life directly and in a strange way, that felt like a sort of power.

So not for the first time, he merely picked at his pancakes. Jimmy thankfully had a few pounds to spare, so at first his habits hadn't been so noticeable. But now his bones were beginning to become more prominent, not dangerously so, but noticeable nonetheless. His cheekbones were more defined and angular and his hip bones protruded just a little bit.

Castiel really did try to provide the necessary food for his body, he just wasn't really interested: he could take it or leave it.

"I don't wanna' sound like a mother hen, but stop shuffling your pancakes around your freaking plate like a pre-schooler!" Dean joked, although his voice had a serious note to it.

"I'm not particularly hungry." He said defensively.

"My ass." Dean said, grabbing Cas's wrist and fitting it between his thumb and pointer finger.

"See? Your body says differently."

Castiel narrowed his eyes defiantly at Dean. The hunter shot him an angry glare back, though the concern in his eyes was poorly concealed. They stayed like that for a while, neither of them willing to back down. Sam cleared his throat, snapping them back to the present.

"I think what Dean is trying to say is that we care about you, Cas. You've lost a bit of weight and we're concerned that you are putting our wellbeing above your own." Sam said democratically.

Castiel lowered his head in defeat, and took a few exaggerated bites of his breakfast to appease them. Dean nodded his head slightly in approval.

"I'll need to go food shopping later today, you two have been very…enthusiastic with your eating lately." They'd used the last of the sugar and peanut butter (essential supplies).

Of course what he meant by 'I'll need to go food shopping' was 'One of you will have to drive me to the store to go food shopping', as he could still not drive.

Maybe he'd get Dean to teach him one of these days.

"Yeah whatever, I'll take you when it's open." The older Winchester commented, prompting Castiel to remember that it was still only 5 o'clock in the morning. Time passed strangely in the bunker seeing as it was devoid of windows and natural light. He supposed it didn't help either brother's sleeping patterns.

Or his own, for that matter.

"So will you be leaving for a job today?" The brothers had been cooped up in the bunker for days. They got irritable after a while; the need to kill things probably became too strong.

They were extremely similar to other hot-blooded mammals, in that way.

"Tonight actually."

"Oh really? What will you be hunting?" The brothers probably thought he asked out of concern. In actual fact, his mind was more concerned with the matter of stain removal…ectoplasm was extremely difficult to wash out of clothes.

"Not sure yet, some sort of creature masquerading as a hot chick who exclusively preys on attractive males under 35."

"Surely a succubus then?"

"Nah, succubi drain their victims of energy, killing them straight away. Whatever we're dealing with gets the vics to kill their loved ones first, then it kills them."

"I see, when should I be expecting you back?"

"Well the job is actually not too far from here, s'in Concordia which is about a one and a bit hours. Word is it or she or whatever hangs out in local bars in the evening, so I reckon we can gank the son of a bitch and be back before midnight."

"And how exactly to you plan to kill it seeming as you don't even know what 'it' is?" It was a miracle Dean wasn't already dead.

Oh wait, he did die. Eight times already. He was certain that the Winchesters had been to heaven more times than they had visited the capital of the United States of America. But Castiel certainly didn't want to keep pushing their luck…If Dean died that would ruin him. Obviously Sam's would, too.

"Pshhaw, we'll figure it out when we get there." Den waved the question off.

"You mean you'll make me do research when we get there." Sam interjected.

"Interesting. Well, I shall await your arrival home." Castiel was calculating how much time that'd give him…3 hour round trip, plus 3 hours for killing the creature…

"No Cas, you won't." Dean grinned wickedly.

"Sorry? I'm not following."

"You're coming with us."

"I am?"

"He is?" Sam asked incredulously.

"He is." Dean said firmly.

"Do I get a choice in this?"

"Nope" Dean said, popping the letter 'p'.

"But I'm not an angel anymore…not a soldier. I can't help you fight anything anymore."

"Firstly, that's stupid. Sammy and I ain't ever had special powers…actually, strike that" Sam glared at Dean, who held up his hands in apology, but continued "But anyway, that's not why you're coming."

"Then what am I coming for?" What else could he possibly be useful for?

"Well, we don't know which bar this chick hangs out in."

"Right." Castiel nodded, not knowing where this was going.

"So that means we'll have to go from bar to bar."

"Okay?"

"Obviously it will look suspicious if we go in without drinking anything…"

"So?"

"Dude! Your first bar crawl!" Dean enthused.

"I am not going to enjoy this."

Dean winked at him.

-0-

A short car journey later, a very foolish feeling Castiel stood outside a non descript bar with a glowing neon sign that said "Havana Kabana" next to a garish light up palm tree.

Dean had insisted he put on something other than his sweatpants and had also held him down and sprayed him with cologne, much to his dismay. He smelled like a girl.

A nice smelling girl, granted, but a girl nonetheless.

Dean clapped him on the back, making him yelp and almost fall over.

"This'll be fun." He grinned.  
"Dean, just remember that we're working, here." Sam said, always the responsible one.

"Relax, Sammy. My tolerance is sky high anyway."

"I wonder why…" Castiel muttered under his breath, earning a grin from Sam.

The three men entered the establishment, casting glances into the crowd of clientele. As it was Saturday night the bar was not surprisingly packed. There were burly looking men in biker leather, as well as scantily clad women whose cleavage seemed to defy the laws of gravity.

Not that Castiel was looking.

"Look out for anything suspicious." Dean said into his ear. He confidently sauntered up to the bartender, an attractive brunette, and fixed her with his best trademark smirk.

"Hey there gorgeous, what's good?"

"Look, I've had it up to here with-" The bartender's furious expression melted of her face when she located the source of the voice. Her eyes widened as she took in Dean, all green eyes and angles and muscle. She batted her eyelashes at him, smiling coyly. "Well, handsome, they say our purple nurples are second to none."

"I don't doubt it, I'll take three of those then please." He winked at her.

The whole exchange made Castiel feel simultaneously awkward and something else he couldn't quite identify. Dean barely glanced at them as he passed Castiel and Sam their drinks, shamelessly flirting with the bartender.

"I'm going to look around for our target." Sam said before slipping away with his drink, leaving Castiel standing like a lost little lamb among a sea of sharks. Dean was otherwise occupied, so he turned away and took a big gulp of his drink. It tasted like fire and coconut. He could feel the alcohol scorching it's merry way down his gullet and dulling to a slow burn in his stomach.

It took him by surprise how quickly he could feel the effects of the liquor. Perhaps it was because he hadn't been eaten much, but after downing his purple nurple he felt positively buzzed.

"Woah, slow down there tiger." A sweet voice came from behind him. He turned to see a short yet curvy woman smiling warmly at him.

"Um." Castiel's brain short-circuited. He wasn't entirely sure of the correct protocol in regards to talking to women.

"Rough week?" She smiled again. Castiel decided he liked her smile. It was one of those smiles that didn't just come from the mouth, but the whole body. One of those ones that lit up her doe brown eyes and formed little dimples on her cheeks. He felt a little more at ease.

"You could say that."

"I know the feeling." Castiel smiled awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

"Are you going to buy me a drink?" She laughed.

"Oh! Of course. What would you like?" The woman regarded him curiously.

"You don't do this a lot, do you handsome?"

"Err, you've caught me." He blushed at the compliment, smiling sheepishly.

"Don't worry, it's cute. You're cute."

Castiel was suspicious at first. He wasn't accustomed to women coming up to him and flirting. They usually went straight for the rugged, bad boy Dean or the handsome, kindly looking Sam.

This girl, however, seemed genuine, so he threw caution to the wind.

"Why thank you. You are very beautiful yourself." He grinned at her.

"Well look at that, a gentleman too. Looks like I've found the good one among this pack of dogs."

"Yes, the other patrons seem a little…intimidating."

"Don't I know it! I was groped three times just walking to the bar! And the women aren't any better."

"Yes, their clothing is somewhat suggestive."

"Suggestive!" She laughed "That's putting it mildly! That one over there" She pointed to a leggy blonde who appeared to be wearing just a tube of black fabric around her midsection. She looked an unhealthy shade of orange. "Her chest is literally about to fall out onto that biker's face." Castiel laughed. It was true, her cleavage was spilling out of its confines onto the plaid-clad man whose lap she was perching on.

"Is she ill? Her skin looks a queer shade of orange."

The girl threw back her head and giggled.

"I still don't know your name. I'm Helena."

"Pleased to meet you Helena, I am Castiel."

"That's an interesting name." She asked coyly.

"Yes, I was…named after an angel." He improvised. Suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to buy Helena a drink.

"Sorry, I forgot. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, I'd love a cosmo."

He quickly ordered a cosmo and another purple nurple from a butch looking barkeep. He and Helena chatted for another twenty minutes or so, making each other laugh with humorous observations about the other patrons.

Soon they fell into a game of making up the conversations between other men and women. They got increasingly ludicrous as the two made their way through more and more alcoholic beverages.

"Oh, Mr. Lumberjack, you're muscles are so…big! You must take steroids to be so muscly!" Helena imitated in a high-pitched voice. They were currently focused on the couple they had seen earlier, the blonde sitting on the plaid-wearing man's lap.

"Why thank you gorgeous, but these are all thanks to hard work. I fight bears for a living." Castiel mocked in a deep voice.

"Oh! That sounds so dangerous! Yet so manly! My, your incredible prowess and strength is making me swoon!"

"Don't worry, I tend to have that effect on women. My masculinity is a powerful force, many lesser beings have succumbed to it."

"Oh, I have succumbed alright, take me, I can't wait any longer, Mr. Lumberjack! You make my womenhood quiver!"

Castiel and Helena broke into a fit of hysterical giggles, drawing the attention of half the bar. As he was inebriated, he lost his balance slightly, blindly reaching out to steady himself. He blushed when he realised his hands were on Helena's waist, but he did not let go. Their gazes locked, and she bit her lip.

Dean, as if only just remembering Castiel existed, came storming over to where he and Helena stood.

"Cas, who the hell is this." He gestured accusingly at Helena. He sounded a little drunk.

"This is Helena, we were just having a nice conversation." He quickly dropped his hands from her waist and took a step back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her look from Dean to Castiel quizzically.

"Well, whatever. I told you to look for the creature, not flirt."

"But you left me to flirt with that bartender, besides, I thought I was here to have fun." Castiel's bottom lip trembled slightly. He couldn't understand why Dean was so angry.

"Well you don't need this tramp to have fun. Besides, our target obviously isn't here. We're leaving." He said venomously.

"You are being exceptionally rude, Dean. Helena is a funny, intelligent woman who deigned to talk to me while you were too 'busy' to remember I existed."

The two men glared at each other for longer than probably appropriate, neither willing to back down.

"Look, I'm sorry, I've obviously gotten in the way of…something. I'll just…leave." Helena said in a small, confused voice.

"It was lovely meeting you, Castiel. You're a wonderful person. I hope you too work out…whatever it is."

"No! Helena, I'm sorry. Dean didn't – " But she had already slipped away.

"Good riddance. Let's go." Dean began to tug Castiel towards the exit.

"Dean, I don't understand. Why were you so rude to her?" He wrenched Dean's arm off him, bringing them to a halt in the car park.

"Rude? Dude, I saved you. She was only using you, looking for a quick lay."

"No, I don't think she was. She seemed very genuine."

"Trust me, I'm only looking out for you. It's the bro code."

"All right..." Castiel trailed off. He trusted the hunter with his life, and he did not believe Dean would lie to him.

They shared a profound bond, after all.

But still, something seemed very off about his behaviour. Helena had seemed like a very nice girl.

-0-

After leaving the first bar on a sour note, the rest of the 'bar crawl', as Dean had called it, was actually rather fun. The three stuck together for the rest of the night, with Dean staying particularly close. Converse to his earlier behaviour, he made every effort to talk to Castiel and make him feel at ease.

The brothers had forced him to ingest shot after shot of strange coloured liquor. He had thought alcohol tasted firey before, but that did not prepare him for the flaming vodka shots that Sam had cajoled him to drink.

At the fifth bar they went to (though he wasn't sure, they all seemed to blur into one another) he drunk his first shot off a stripper. At the sixth, he'd witnessed his first bar fight. Sam had to deflect a flying broken bottle away from Castiel's face. He was very grateful, his mind was so foggy he didn't have the capacity to do anything other than laugh and do what Dean and Sam instructed him to do.

He finally lost track of the number of bars they had visited.

Castiel didn't know how long they'd been out – he estimated it must be at least four a.m. He couldn't believe this was what his life had come to. Drinking alcohol and hopping from bar to bar like a carefree juvenile. Suddenly he felt very claustrophobic in the Winchester's company. And very sick.

He wrenched himself free of the pair and pushed through the crowd. He had only just made it outside and round the corner of the bar when he violently emptied the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk.

When he had stopped retching, he turned the corner into a small alley and slumped down against the wall. He buried his head in his hands. Despite his best efforts, hot salty tears began to run down his face, staining the sleeves of his shirt.

He felt awful.

It was like all his failures suddenly caught up with him. Even the littlest things made him feel worthless. He had burnt the apple pie he had tried to make for Dean last week. He couldn't drive. Dean and Sam thought he was weak and never took him hunting. He couldn't bring himself to eat a full meal. He wasn't an angel. He could become ill. He was going to die one day.

That made him cry harder.

Castiel felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up. A scruffy, bearded man with 3 teeth was smiling at him, holding out something to Castiel in an outstretched palm.

"You look like you could use this, sonny." The homeless man said to him. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and closed his fist around whatever the man had given him.

"Sorry, I have invaded your home." Castiel said, noting the makeshift bed and backpack furthur down the alley. Homeless people didn't make him feel nervous or uncomfortable; he had spent a while living as one not longer ago.

On the contrary, Castiel found them to be some of the most selfless people he had ever met.

"Don't you worry, it's no trouble."

He uncurled his fist, revealing a small white cigarette. No, that wasn't quite right, this looked different. This cigarette was fatter, and looked homemade. He had never smoked before, and seeming as this night had been a night of firsts, he decided to give it a try.

"Do you have a lighter?" He asked. The homeless man nodded and lit the end of the strange cigarette. Castiel sucked long and hard on the end, like he'd seen on television. He kept the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds, before exhaling a plume of grey smoke into the sultry night air.

After only a few long drags, He felt his negative emotions fade away. He felt all melty inside, like chocolate on a hot summers day. He could feel his heart beating steadily in every part of his body, even in his eyelids. He had an eyelid heartbeat. Suddenly he found that very, very awesome, and he giggled to himself.

"I'm melting." He sighed happily. The homeless man chuckled.

"Atta' boy."

He let his head fall back. The stars twinkled above him in the sky, he could hear them twinkling like a wind chime in the breeze. He was at one with the wind and the sky and the stars. He was flying, soaring. He was an angel.

"No one told me cigarettes were this good."

"They aren't cigarettes, boy." Somewhere in the back of Castiel's mind a warning signal sounded, if it wasn't a cigarette, what was it? Had he willingly used mild-altering substances? What would Sam and Dean think if they could see him now, giggling and tracing patterns in the air.

As quickly as the thought came, he let it float away down the river of consciousness. He didn't care. He didn't care and that was awesome.

"Can I have some more of those to take with me?" He stumbled over his words, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth.

"Hmm, just cos' I like ya' I'll say yes. Can't hurt to build up some positive karma." The homeless man placed a tucked a bunch of not-cigarettes into Castiel's jean pocket. Then he wrote something on a crumpled scrap of paper, and tucked that in there as well.

"You call that number if you need more. Tell him Jedediah sent you." Then he slumped back against the wall, lighting up a not-cigarette himself.

"My cosmic karma is through the fucking roof." He sighed, closing his eyes.

Castiel found himself getting up, legs moving seemingly of their own accord. He rubbed his eyes and wandered back to the bar slowly, marvelling at the night time city scape. Since when had there been so much colour in the world? He stumbled through the crowds, finally finding the Winchester brother. He practically fell on Dean.

"Cas! We were worried, where did you go?" Sam exclaimed.

"I melted. But then flew. It was awesome." He sighed happily, leaning into Dean, burying his face into his jacket.

"Cinnamon." He said, nuzzling his nose against the older Winchester.

"What the hell, Cas? How much have you had to drink?" Dean questioned, pulling Castiel upright but not pushing him away.

"S'your fault. But it's okay, because Jedediah made me an angel again."

"What the everliving fuck, He's wasted Sammy, we need to get him home."

"What about the creature?"

"_Fuck_ the creature." Cas said. He giggled at the word fuck, it felt so alien coming out of his mouth.

"He's a weird drunk." Dean said

"He's an…affectionate drunk." Sam gestured at Cas, who was stuck tight to Dean like a limpet

"Ah, right." Dean pried Cas, who was currently attempting to snuggle Dean's shoulder, off of him.

"Honestly, I don't think Cas is up for anymore. To be honest I'm pretty smashed as well." Dean slurred. He always knew when he was quite drunk, because his face began to feel weird. Like it wasn't his face, but that of a plastic dummy. In this instance, he didn't have to feel his own face, because Cas was now poking him in the cheek, where his dimples were.

"Yeh, I can see that." Sam laughed as Dean lost balance and almost took Cas down with him. The hunt forgotten, the three men staggered out of the bar.

-0-

The clock read five a.m.

Sam had gone straight to his room, mumbling something about feeling like he was back at Stamford. Castiel had attempted to run off to his room, but Dean had dragged him back to the lounge and sat him down on the sofa. He force fed him slices of dry toast, that Castiel dutifully ate.

"There, that'll sober you up." Dean was finally satisfied after he had chewed his way through three slices. Castiel giggled. Dean thought he was drunk, it was cute. The hunter put the plate in the kitchen, and then walked behind the sofa towards Castiel.

On an impulse, he reached behind him and grabbed Dean by the shirt, yanking him down over the back of the sofa and on top of Castiel, who was lying down. Dean yelped and propped himself up with his arms, but Castiel held firm and wouldn't let him get up.

Dean must've been drunk; if he were sober he would've at least put up a fight. Green eyes met blue. Dean's pupils dilated, leaving only a sliver of forest green around a saucer of black. He smelled of leather, cinnamon and sunshine. It was delicious.

He was delicious.

"Cas, what're you – what're you –" Dean stammered.

"Shhh." The ex-angel replied.

"Cas, let me go!"

"No. Do you want me to?" Dean said nothing.

Castiel lifted his head up and whispered into Dean's ear.

"I'm chained to a comet, only the comet is you."

His head fell back and let go of Dean, who rolled off of him onto the floor and scampered to his feet. He looked conflictedly at Castiel and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then, deciding against it, he shook his head and made a beeline for his room.

"Fucking, fuck." He whispered angrily as he stubbed his toe on the coffee table during his escape.

Castiel lazily traced patterns in the air with his finger and sighed, eyes pink and glazed. He sighed happily as the floating feeling returned. He could've sworn he was lifted a couple inches off the sofa, suspended in midair.

"Is this what they call Paradise?" He whispered into empty space, then broke into another fit of giggling. Once he started, he couldn't stop.


	5. Fine Line

**A/N Sorry this chapter took so long, I had zero motivation until tonight where I literally vomited my thoughts into a word document. With this in mind, it might be a little rushed so bear with me! As always thank you so much to all who followed, I'm surprised about how many! Please review, it makes me so happy!**

**-Noonie **

-Chapter five 'Fine line'-

Dean didn't know what had come over him lately.

First off, there was that awkward hugging situation in the kitchen. Dean liked to think he wasn't a very touchy-feely person, which is why his own reaction to Cas' helpless expression thoroughly surprised him. He'd pulled the shorter man into a tight embrace before his brain could even register what his body was doing.

Then Castiel, former angel of the lord, had freaking _nuzzled his neck_.

_Nuzzled._

And then obviously, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, Sam had waltzed straight in there and saw them what could only be described as cuddling.

Dean shuddered. He did _not_ cuddle. Well, most of the time.

Even before that though there was another incident. A seemingly insignificant incident that no one would give a second thought, but to Dean it spoke volumes. Cas had asked for a drink. Sam had also asked for a drink.

And Dean had actually _got them their drinks_.

To the untrained eye, this would appear as mundane human kindness, but he knew better. He was nobody's bus boy. His usual response to such requests was along the lines of 'Fuck you' or something similar to that effect. He was a man, and men simply didn't do such things.

Oh god, he was becoming domesticated.

Next, there was that thing at the bar. He'd been happily flirting with the smoking hot bartender who had boobs the size of watermelons when he'd heard some louder than usual giggling. He had managed to pry his eyes away from her rack briefly to see from whom it was coming from.

That's when he'd seen Cas with…what was her name? Helga…Helen…Helena, that was it. He'd seen Cas with Helena. They weren't necessarily flirting, just goofing around, that much was clear. But Cas, clearly a little buzzed, had stumbled just a bit and reached out for something to steady himself. When that something had turned out to be Helena's waist, Dean instantly saw red.

He'd been overcome with a sudden yet intense hatred for the girl. He had only wanted to save Cas from being sucked in by the tramp (and yes, he did mean that in the literal sense) but all he ended up doing was embarrassing himself.

In retrospect, she wasn't even half bad. She was cute – short but had feminine curves in all the right places. Her face was warm and trusting and open. Plus her ass was pretty damn fine. But at the time Dean remembered thinking that she was nowhere near good enough for Cas. He'd acted like a complete asshole to the poor girl.

It was _his_ fault in the first place for leaving his friend all alone to wander about in a biker-filled bar like a lost little sheep. Yet there was still that little voice in the back of his mind, one he almost managed to suppress, whispering one little word…

_Jealous._

But that was ridiculous.

He'd simply been looking out for his best friend, right?

And then, like the icing on the cosmic karma 'Let's fuck with Dean Winchester' cake, there was that…odd thing that Cas had said to him when they got back. Cas was so out of it that he doubted he remembered, but Dean definitely could. Dean had been very drunk, that was for sure. He, however, had…ah, how to put it, plenty of 'experience' in that department, so he could handle his liquor no problemo.

_I'm chained to a comet, only the comet is you._

Cas had said that. To Dean. Who had been on lying on top of Cas.

He could easily justify the compromising position, that's not what bothered him. Cas had held him down and hell, even Dean had to admit the ex-angel was strong. Surprisingly so. Although in some deep dark corner of his mind he knew he could've put up more of a fight.

What bothered him were those words. The phrase ricocheted around his head, refusing to leave or be forgotten. He couldn't really make sense of them. What did Cas mean? It sounded like…well; he didn't really know what they sounded like. All he knew is that Cas' words left him feeling…heavy. Whenever he thought about it his gut tightened and his skin prickled with heat.

Why was he a comet? When he'd been an angel Cas had said his soul shone brightly but Dean didn't get the impression that was all that his friend had been referring too. And why was he chained? Did Cas feel like he was stuck with Dean? Was his company that awful?

This internal crisis had led him to the state he was in now: sprawled out on the couch in his sweats marathoning the latest season of Game of Thrones with a family value sized packet of cheetos. How the mighty hunter had fallen. Wallowing in self-pity was definitely not his best look, he decided.

While John Snow was busy prancing about Castle Black (seriously, who cares? Get back to Daenerys or the Kings Landing drama, he thought) he contemplated when exactly he had begun to act like a little bitch.

Dean wanted to deny it, but all possible avenues of thought pointed to one exact moment: The day Cas had moved into the bunker. But why would that make him different? He'd spent a bunch of time with the guy before. Hell, they'd saved the world together more times than Dean could count on one hand.

True his friend had become a tad effeminate since becoming human and settling down in a stable home environment. He supposed that Cas' more feminine attributes may be rubbing off on him a little? That still didn't really explain it though, became Sammy acted like a spoilt pouty princess sometimes and after all these years that hadn't changed Dean at all.

"Why me?" Dean whined, running his hand through his hair.

"Why you what, Dean?" Sam piped up from behind the couch, causing him to jump about five metres into the air and spill popcorn everywhere.

"Sammy! We have talked about this! Do not sneak up on me!" Dean grumbled, beginning to pick salted popcorn out of his hair.

"Well look whose touchy today. Is it that time of the month?" Sam smirked as he gestured to Dean's slovenly attire.

"SHUT UP!" Dean all but screamed.

"Touched a nerve, sorry." Sam held his hands up apologetically.

Of course he'd touched a fucking nerve, Dean had literally just been worrying about acting too feminine. He knew there were some girly parts of himself he could never change, like his appearance. He was obviously handsome but his features were a touch too feminine for his liking.

Some douchebags had once started calling him 'pretty boy' in high school. It went without saying that he beat them up, surprising them with ruthless martial art skills thanks to his Dad's training. But still, that night when Sam was asleep and Dad was away hunting, he'd tried cutting his long blond eyelashes off. All that had got him was a small cut on his eyelid and wonky looking eyes, so he had learned there were some things you just had to learn to live with.

"Whatever." Dean grumbled. "Want something?" He continued when Sam didn't leave.

"Yeah, do you know where Cas is?"

"Taking a walk."  
"Again?"

"Tell me about it, who goes for walks?"

"Cas, obviously. Wonder where he goes…"

"Around the forest, I think."

"It's a big forest, maybe I should check if he's okay…"

"Sammy, relax. Cas is a big boy, he can take care of himself," Not for one second did Dean actually believe that, "Let the nerd take a walk."

"Hmph. Okay. I Just wanted a second opinion of the translations of some demonic texts-"

"Aaaand, I'm out." Dean cut his brother off, turning back to the television. Crowley was actually keeping hell in line for once so Dean didn't see any need for Sam to be translating any ancient mumbo jumbo. Research for the sake of research was just dull.

"You are such a dick, at least Cas values academia."

"At least Cas values academia blah blah blah." Dean mocked in a high-pitched voice. "Leave the dude alone. He's probably out there hugging some trees, trying to reconnect with nature of some shit like that.

"Fine, whatever Jerk." Sam turned, heading back to the library.

"Bitch!" Dean called over his shoulder.

He attempted to focus on Arya practicing her sword fighting, but instead found his mind wandering to Cas. Sam had raised a perfectly valid point. What the hell was the ex-angel doing out there. No one actually went for walks did they? He thought only balding retirees with nothing better to do went walking.

He had to concede that whatever coping mechanism Cas had been using lately was definitely working. He seemed…lighter. More airy. Like he'd drift about the bunker in a relaxed manner, smiling and oscillating between viciously dry wit and utter cluelessness – the way that only Cas could.

He joined in the friendly banter between Dean and Sam more and could now hold his ground, displaying an arsenal of witty retorts that Dean reckoned he'd collected from daytime television. One thing that did however concern him was the way his friend seemed vacant at times. He'd drift off sometimes and either Sam or Dean would have to call him back down to Planet Earth from whatever lofty heights his mind went whenever he zoned out.

It was almost endearing. Almost.

Whatever he was doing to find inner peace or whatever, Dean could use a slice himself.

_That's it, I'm going to go find him, _he thought.

**CASTIEL**

Castiel's emotional status was truly in unknown territory. He not only felt hungry but he also felt a strange yearning that was burning like white hot fire inside of him. Upon deeper contemplation he had identified this feeling as sexual desire. He was, for lack of a better word, 'horny'.

One would initially think these two feelings to be strange in light of his whereabouts: Underneath the boughs of a large oak tree which buttresses formed perfectly shaped alcoves to sit in. It was like sitting in a tree cradle.

He sighed contentedly, blowing a small plume of smoke from his mouth while smiling at the image of himself as a baby in a tree cradle. The red hot butt of his joint smouldered in the late evening sun.

Castiel didn't mean to go behind the Winchester's backs like this, but he didn't think they'd approve of his new habit. José, the intimidating Mexican drug dealer that Jedediah the homeless man had directed him too, reliably informed him that what he was smoking was not 'not-cigarettes' but in fact marijuana.

Witch doctors, seers, shamans and spiritual guides from a whole host of religions had used said drug to reach a meditative state and connect with nature for thousands of years, so it must be fine, right? And if it helped him relax then surely the brothers would understand.

Yet here he was, hiding from them in a forest, alone. In particular he was hiding from Dean – he was the more volatile of the two and Castiel really wasn't sure how he'd take it. But that was the beauty of being high…He couldn't really bring himself to care. About anything, really. He was as light as feather and as free as bird.

He could've definitely gone for something to eat though. Maybe some pancakes, or something chocolately. He fantasized about eating a whole stack of warm, melting chocolate chip cookies. _Mmmm…_

His other needs, however, he found harder to give direction. Feeling this…sexual desire was utterly unknown territory for him. He didn't have anything or anyone to direct it towards, to be honest.

_How frustrating, _he mused, _must it be to feel this way all the time. How do humans carry on their daily activities with this constantly burning in the background. How can Sam and Dean hunt while…_

"Leave me alone. Don't judge me." Castiel said to the squirrel who was regarding him warily. It was definitely judging him. He could feel it.

"You can't take the high road. Don't pretend you've never felt this way before."

The squirrel cocked it's head to one side.

"Yes, I figured as much. There is a Mrs. Squirrel, isn't there."

"Oh you cheeky creature. Do you talk to your mother with that tongue?" He reprimanded. The squirrel took one more beady eyed look at him and scuttled away.

"That's right," He chuckled, "You better run."

Castiel took another short drag of his joint, letting the smoke linger in his lungs for only a few seconds before letting the smoke curl away into the fading light. He'd learnt to not only smoke sparingly but also to not breathe the smoke in too deeply. Otherwise it was too obvious when he returned to the bunker. He had to seem happy, not high.

He walked a fine line.

Extinguishing the butt of his joint, he stood up and brushed the late summer leaves off himself. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon and he loved to watch the sky light up in haphazard streaks of purple, gold, pink and red. There was a great ledge just up ahead where the forest stopped and continued further down the valley.

You could see the whole forest from there, it was truly a sight to behold. His father had at least gotten some things right before he took his permanent early retirement.

He reached the ledge after a short languid stroll and sat down lazily, smiling to himself as he admired the view. Being human wasn't all bad, he supposed. The air outside seemed to form a cocoon of safety around him. The temperature outside was at that sweet spot where it seemed to exactly match the body temperature. It was like being submerged in a tub of warm bath water.

A rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs punctured his reverie.

"Cas!" A voice could be heard shouting. Castiel's heart twisted in his chest – would Dean catch him? He relaxed however when he quickly realised he'd already put away his recreational mind altering substances. And perhaps he was a tiny bit too buzzed to care, anyway.

"Cas, you out there?" Dean sounded closer this time. Figuring that his friend would eventually find him anyway, Castiel said nothing in reply.

Dean all but fell out of the trees into clearing at the forest's edge. For a hunter, he would've thought that Dean would be more graceful.

Apparently not.

His eyes lit up in relief as he saw Castiel sitting on the floor, feet dangling over the ledge.

"Thank God, I was looking for you, dude. Help a brother out next time, would ya'?"

"Hello, Dean." He smiled genuinely, "Come watch the sunset with me." Castiel gestured to the kaleidoscope sky.

A few unidentifiable expressions flashed across Dean's face in quick succession, but he eventually sat down next to Castiel.

"So this is where you've been coming, heh?" The hunter said after a few long seconds of comfortable silence.

"Yes, I like nature, it relaxes me." _And so does marijuana._

"Well then maybe I should take up tree hugging. You seem so zen lately."

"I am adjusting."

"Hmmph."

Minutes passed as they sat companionably watching the sun making it's arc across the sky. Castiel felt perfectly contented, sitting here with his best friend. It felt right, somehow. Like cosmic alignment. He laughed softly.

"What's so funny?" Dean smiled.

"Nothing. This is nice. Being here, with you." Out of the corner of his eye Castiel caught the fleeting pained expression on Dean's face. However just as quickly as it came, it left again and his fine features relaxed and melted into a lazy smile.

"Yeah. S'not bad." He shot Castiel a trademark dazzling smirk. "Though do the woods smell…weird to you?" A small sliver of panic bubbled up in Castiel, begging to be payed attention to. He quickly quashed it.

"No, I don't smell anything." He replied innocently. He'd almost forgot about the…piquant smell created by the burning herb.

"Huh, just me then." Thankfully Dean dropped the subject.

"Hey Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"D'you remember the other night…after that hunt…"

"My memory is patchy in places. What about it?" In fact Castiel knew exactly what he was referring too, what was bothering him. It was written plain as day all over his face. This is what the Winchester's didn't realise about him. He was human, not stupid. He'd lived for millions of years and watched over the human race since they crawled out of the mud. He knew how to read people like books.

"You said something…weird. Actually, never mind. Forget it." Dean abandoned the line of inquiry. He knew it wasn't healthy for the hunter to bottle up his emotions, that much he'd learnt from Sam. Sam really was a good little brother, whether Dean realised it or not. With the older Winchester it took time, you had to slowly tease out his emotional knots.

With that knowledge in mind, Castiel let the subject drop. It would come up again, he was sure, but hopefully in the far future where he could come up with an answer to Dean's question which would undoubtedly be 'What did you mean by _I'm chained to a comet only the comet is you."_ He meant every word of it, felt it's meaning reverberate all the way down to his core. Yet still he himself didn't actually know what he meant. He couldn't put his finger on it.

They sat like that for what seemed like eternity. They watched the sun gracefully dip below the horizon and plunge the world into darkness. They watched as the moon rose and stars started to spangle the sky. They watched, as Castiel had done since the beginning of time itself.


	6. A little Slice of Sam

-Chapter six 'A little slice of Sam'-

**A/N Sorry for how painfully slow this chapter came and how short it is. I've had no motivation whatsoever to write, so I figured I'd just bash out a short filler chapter from Sam's point of view. I'll write a longer, better and more significant chapter shortly; I promise it'll be up in two to three days **

**-Noonie**

Sam Winchester was not a family man.

It seemed almost paradoxical then that his life had revolved around and been dedicated to his family for as long as he could remember.

He'd always had mixed feelings for his father, the great John Winchester, hunter extraordinaire. On one hand, he'd tirelessly devoted his life to avenging his wife, Sam's mother. He never wavered from said task and his life post-fire seemed a dedication of sorts to her. He was not a selfish man. Sam could definitely admire him for that.

However on the other hand, Sam resented his dad. Him and Dean weren't really 'brought up' as children, they were dragged up kicking and screaming and moulded into perfect little killers. He should've had a childhood, and Dad had stolen that right from him. They shared the same stubborn streak and so had butted heads about anything and everything. You name it, they argued over it. What to watch on TV, which baseball team was the best, the correct pronunciation of Latin exorcisms. They even argued over sandwich fillings, John disapproving of Sam's fondness for peanut butter and banana on white bread. He'd called it unhealthy and girly.

Well, screw him. Now he could eat whatever he wanted.

When Sam had left for Stanford, those two short years had been the happiest of his life.

All the arguing he could forgive his dad for. It was what John Winchester had done to Dean that he would hold against him for the rest of his life and afterlife, whether that be in heaven or in hell (He was betting on hell, looking back at his track record). Sam had always had strong strength of character – he knew what he wanted and he did just that.

John, however, had moulded Dean into his perfect little attack dog. He took orders even if he didn't agree with them out of blind loyalty and thus learned to shut himself off from the world and even from his brother. It took Sam tremendous effort to dig through all the layers of psychological scar tissue in Dean in order to get him to open up.

John made Dean a hunter through and through; in the process stealing any chance that Dean might've had to lead a happy, normal life. His brother mimicked their dad's self-destructive ways and had seemingly adopted the motto of 'live fast die young', throwing himself at whatever dangers he could find.

In the past Sam thought he could live a normal life. He knew now he couldn't, because of Dean. His presence was the only thing keeping Dean from hurling himself off the deep end and he cared about his brother too much to let that happen. From the very first time that Dean had died in his arms after being ripped to shreds by hellhounds, Sam knew he couldn't live with himself in the event of Dean's death.

So here in the bunker the brothers stayed, shackled together by an unnatural sense of all consuming loyalty and dangerously co-dependent on each other.

To stave off boredom and loneliness Sam had dedicated himself to cataloguing and learning all that the Men of Letters had to offer. He supposed, due to a funny little twist of fate, that he was now the nominal head of the secret society. Their membership only comprised himself, Dean, Charlie and Kevin and with Charlie in Oz and Kevin awol with his mom, Sam reckoned he earned leadership over Dean who was erratic at the best of times.

At the moment he was slowly making his way through the Men of Letters compendium of demonic incantations and histories. Of course, having hunted demons all his life (constantly in the past 2 years, it seemed) knew most of what was contained within the dusty pages already.

Still, it never hurt to check.

Plus, there was the fact that this compendium was annotated by hundreds of years worth of Men of Letters. When he'd first spotted the spider-like scrawls in the margins he had almost squealed with joy and excitement. Of course he'd reigned his feelings in – squealing was not manly and he was definitely very manly. The epitome of manliness. His hand ran itself traitorously through his silky shoulder length locks.

He liked to condition his hair, okay? Was that a crime? No.

Did it make him any less of a man, despite what Dean said? No.

Maybe.

Anyway, that was off topic. He shook his head and focused back on the tome. One of the annotators must have had a wicked sense of humour because alongside several entrees he had written sarcastic remarks so funny that they made Sam chuckle out loud.

By a temporary demon blinding dust recipe which called for essence of banshee there was a line tagged on:

'_Alternatively, if banshee's are not available might I suggest my ex-wife would make a suitable candidate.'_

On a page containing ways to identify if a person is a human or a demon, there was this:

'_**Demons will sneeze when they ingest a certain combination of dill, faerie dust and a chemical commonly found in fermented fish**__. -Yes because next time I suspect a bystander of being demonically possessed I shall approach them with a platter of smoked fish with dill and faerie sauce and ask them if they would like a taste. The height of subtlety. Thank you so much.'_

Whoever the man had been, Sam knew he would've liked him.

"Morning, Sam, what is so amusing." Castiel interrupted as he breezed into the room.

Morning? Already? When had that happened…Sam must've been reading all night. It was hard to sleep right in the bunker when there was no natural light source indicating night and day. Cas was always a good indicator, however, as he had a more regular sleeping pattern lately and always emerged from his room around 6:30.

"Hey Cas. So get this, this compendium is full of hand written notes from previous readers and one of them is hilarious, here look for yourself." Sam handed the book over to a bleary eyed Castiel.

With a start, he realised Cas was only wearing boxer shorts and a pair of slippers. His boxers hung low on his hips; his hip bones jutted out at sharp angles. He looked thinner for sure but he was still lean and muscled, which made Sam relax slightly. Thank God they'd gotten over the whole 'Cas not eating' thing, he didn't know how to deal with things like that.

Luckily Dean seemed to be all about Cas these days. His jerk of a brother had truly taken him under his wing. They'd both been spending a lot more time with each other than with Sam. Not that he minded, it simply meant that he had one less responsibility on his plate: looking after Dean.

"Or alternatively use a semi-automatic rifle…" Cas chuckled, "This man is very amusing. I liked the one about the ex wife."

"I know right?" Sam took back the compendium, letting it hit the mahogany table with a great thud.

"Where is Dean?" Cas asked, cocking his head to one side and eyes shining like a puppy.

Sam had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, the man couldn't go five waking minutes without his brother. They were like teenage girls, honestly.

"Maybe some clothes, first eh?" He gestured at Cas' semi-naked body with a raised eyebrow.

The shorter man looked down at his torso and then back at Sam. He shrugged, nonplussed.

"Should it bother me?"

"No, I guess…"

"Does it bother you?"

"Not really, I grew up in a motel room with my brother and my Dad. Safe to say I've seen worse."

"Right, then. Dean?" Sam was surprised at how easily Cas sweeped away that conversation. His social skills definitely were improving. Maybe not his manners, though.

"In the gym. He might not want to be interrupted."

Cas shrugged and then drifted off.

_Whatever,_ Sam though with wry amusement, _Just little old me again._

He honestly didn't mind being left alone for a bit. The three men spent so much time in each other's company it could feel a bit claustrophobic at times. It was nice to have time to himself to do…Sam things.

No, not like _that_. Okay yes, sometimes that.

What? He was a regular guy despite the whole 'hunt and kill supernatural monsters' thing. He had to take care of his urges somehow. He wasn't like Dean, he couldn't just go to bar and pick up a random girl and sleep with her…and he certainly didn't pay. He had more respect for women than that.

Then there was the fact that 99% of women he slept with ended up dying horrible, agonisingly painful deaths. He didn't want to curse another girl with his shitty luck.

Sam did wonder about Dean, though. He'd noticed a recent lack of one-night stands from his brother. Obviously they had an unspoken rule that no hook-ups should be taken into the bunker. It was always the girls' house, no questions asked. His overtly promiscuous brother, however, hadn't gone out for the night in weeks; Sam was starting to think something was wrong.

Plus there was the fact that he spent quite a lot of his time lounging about in the t.v room, binge watching series of shows in his pyjamas; more often than not with beer and sweet foods. In between these periods of sloth and lethargy he would suddenly become bursting with energy and restless.

It hurt his head sometimes, the way Dean's mood oscillated between two extremes. Maybe he was having an early mid life crisis? It seemed like something was on his mind, at least. Usual Dean behaviour was to focus on someone else rather than face his own problems.

Sam remembered fondly back to a time when he'd really cashed in on Dean's deflection. It was during a similar long, lethargic summer, where the sun blazed and their Dad was nowhere to be found for a couple of days.

_Sam couldn't understand what his brother was doing. Dean was storming around their latest motel, throwing pillows and kicking furniture and shouting 'It's not fair!' repeatedly. He took an almighty kick at a bed post and then doubled over, howling in pain. _

_Strange, you would've thought Dean would've known that kicking metal would stub his toe. _

_Teenagers were sooo weird. He dreaded becoming one. Dean was so unpredictable; angry at Sam one day and really nice to him the next. It must be hormones or whatever. Although having said he didn't want to be a teenager, he couldn't wait til' he was able to grow a beard. _

_He'd look super cool, like a rugged warrior in one his fiction books. Beards made people look badass as heck. Dean had already sprouted a few blond whiskers that he'd tried to shave off himself. S'not like Dad noticed enough to teach him how. His jaw was peppered with tiny cuts and band-aids, he looked like such a dork. _

_Since he'd got caught up in picturing himself with a beard, he hadn't noticed that his brother had stopped flailing around. _

"_You alright?" He asked quietly and in a neutral tone, not wanting to antagonize Dean._

"_Yeah, Sammy, I'm fine. I'm great." He smiled. "In fact, I'm super. I tell you what, it's boiling. Let's get outta' here."_

"_But Deaaan, Dad said stay here except for food."_

"_Oh yeh." His brothers face fell. He'd always follow Dad's orders. _

"_But maybe…if we went to get ice cream, that would count as food?" Sam suggested._

"_I guess…and if it happened to take the rest of the day to eat the ice cream, then that'd technically be fine, right?" _

"_Right!" _

"_Damn Sammy, you're becoming a little genius." Dean smiled, ruffling his hair._

_His brother grabbed his oversized army jacket and practically ran out the room, leaving Sam to follow after him as fast as his short legs would carry him. He surreptitiously fist pumped and did a little happy dance. He had yet again successfully conned his brother into buying him ice cream. Life was sweet._

Sam smiled at the memory. His brother was weird, but he was a little weird too. Call it the upbringing, but they made a pretty good team.

"It's just unacceptable that you don't get the reference. You've watched _Keeping up with the Kardashians_ for fucks sake! No, don't bullshit me, I saw you…Well if you had so much time you should at least be familiarising yourself with the classics. I don't _care_ that you think elves are obnoxious…Sam!" Dean's voice reverberated clearly down the corridor. Sam could just make out Cas' gravelly voice grumbling in protest.

"Sam!" Dean's head popped around the corner, followed by Cas'.

"What's going on?" He chuckled, taking in the child-like pouting look on the ex-angel's face.

"Cas hasn't watched Lord of the Rings, even though it made number 3 on my _crash course in human cinematography_ list I gave him."

Sam gasped in mock horror, "But it's Dean's _favourite!"_

"Hey, pipe down you. I know it's one of your favourites too, I'm making him watch it, you in?"

"I suppose." Sam sighed fondly, extricating himself the paraphernalia surrounding him.

As they settled in to watch the movie, It did not once cross Sam's mind that Dean and Cas were sitting closer than needed on the spacious couch. It didn't cross his mind that it was a bit strange how Dean would leave his hand on Cas' leg longer than acceptable when a he tried to explain to Cas how amazing the good bits were.

He wasn't really paying attention. He should've been, though.


	7. Angel Dust

**A/N – Sorry I haven't updated in ages, I had a MASSIVE bout of writer's block, and school has started again which is a bitch but I'll try and update more regularly. This is my first time writing a bit of smut so I played it safe but I've read my fair share so hopefully there will be some more saucy stuff later ;) Sorry for any errors I literally churned it out in an hour after inspiration hit and don't want to keep y'all waiting!**

**-Noonie**

-Chapter seven 'Angel Dust'-

_This is not how I envisaged my human life going, _Castiel reflected as he took a lung wrenchingly long drag of the fat cigar he'd been distributed by a pug ugly man, extravagantly dressed with a fiercely gelled moustache.

His eyes watered as he attempted to keep the smoke in his lungs without coughing. Too late, unfortunately, He'd been told that you weren't meant to inhale too much cigar smoke; rather one should 'taste' it.

Why anyone would smoke just for taste was beyond him. At least he got some sort of gain out of wilfully ruining his lungs.

He wasn't sure quite how he'd ended up tangled up in what appeared to be an underground drug ring. All he knew is that he'd followed Luiz, José the drug dealer's less intimidating associate, down a flight of steps concealed by a shabby and inconspicuous street door.

Somehow he'd ended up here.

_I'm really becoming an honorary Winchester, _he mused_, making reckless snap decisions that could potentially get him killed._

Luiz was a tall and extremely well muscled latino man with a killer moustache (what was with moustaches today?) and a sense of humour to match. They'd met on his weekly shopping trip (José's preferred meeting spot was conveniently right around the corner from a large grocery store) and the tall man had taken a liking to Castiel instantly.

"Ah hello! It is you! José here tells me you are good customer. One of the best." He'd boomed, clapping Castiel on the back.

"Um, I suppose. Sorry but who are you? I was under the impression there was customer confidentiality in this business."

He made a conscious effort to sound calm and collected despite being a little bit scared and very uncomfortable.

"Oh don't worry, friend, you are safe with me, always. Luiz Castro, at your service." The hulk of a man held his large hand out to Castiel, who took it gingerly.

He couldn't hold back the yelp that passed his lips as Luiz pulled him into a bone crushing hug. When he managed to wiggle free he straightened up his t shirt and put a bit more distance between him and the man in case of another surprise bear hug.

"Hohoho you must forgive me friend I forget my strength and you are _muy delicada, _like a little c_hiquita_."

Sadly Castiel had lost his ability to understand different languages when he lost his grace however he had enough basic Spanish to sense his manliness was being attacked.

"Sorry, but what business do you have with me?" He snapped.

"Fiesty too, my brother would like you. Yes, very much like you."

"_Basta_, Luiz. _Estamos aqui por negocios, pervertido."_ José snapped in Spanish, his eyes dark and sinister under thick black eyebrows. He was the sort of person who looked like he could kill a man in several different ways without lifting a finger.

Somewhat like Lucifer, actually.

Considering the devil had actually killed him once with a snap of his fingers, he was understandably on guard.

"Sorry, my friend here is very impatient. We have proposition for you, very valued customer."

"Proposition?"

Castiel was starting to feel apprehensive. What could two latino drug dealers possibly want from him, a slight, pasty looking white man who probably smoked enough pot to keep half a small drug cartel afloat?

"I see the worry in your eyes, hombre, do not worry. There is a place we'd like to invite you to. Fine company, free product, very elite clientele. You would be very welcome."

Castiel had agreed on a reckless impulse and followed Luiz. Plus he kind of wanted to get away from José.

One meeting with him a week was enough, thank you very much.

There was even a metal bolted door with a sliding grill on the way down through which the man muttered what could've possibly been a password to a pair of dark eyes the other side.

And that was how Castiel came to be sitting in some seedy underground members-only club in which all sorts of illegal activities were transpiring. From his short trip to a brothel with Dean he could also identify prostitutes wandering around, scantily clad with men in tow.

Gambling was also rife – there was many green velvet tables surrounded by rich looking men smoking cigars like his. Their gaudy red and blue plastic chips reminded Castiel oddly of pancake stacks; the men tossed them around like they were nothing – like they didn't represent hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Smoke of all varieties hung heavy in the air like blanket.

This was truly a den of iniquity; how far he had sunk – Castiel former leader of an entire angel garrison.

It was so absurd.

He couldn't help chuckle out loud at the bathos.

"What is funny, mi querido?" Pablo purred in his ear.

That was another thing. Luiz hadn't been joking about his brother; Pablo Castro definitely took a liking to him. He was practically pawing Castiel; scratch that, he _was _pawing him.

The man smelled familiar, like cinnamon, which simultaneously put him at ease and made him feel vaguely guilty though he wasn't sure why.

Pablo had sauntered up to him as soon as Luiz had escorted him inside. He was flamboyantly dressed with flawlessly gelled hair and an incredible physique to match his incredible looks. He looked like the Adonis figure of classical literature – all angles and pouty lips.

An image of Dean bubbled to the surface of his mind, but he quickly pushed it back down as he always did.

From a strictly objective neutral point of view he thought Pablo was quite attractive. To other people, of course, obviously not him. He was above carnal desires like that.

And besides, although Castiel didn't know much about human sexuality he reckoned he wasn't supposed to find men attractive. Or something like that.

He suddenly remembered that Pablo had asked him a question and that gawping at his beauty did not constitute an answer.

"I'm just…this place, my life. It's funny."

"This place ain't funny, boy. I've been waiting years to get in, yet you just stroll in here all dewy eyed and innocent, queer as you like. Where's the equality in that? America, land of the free I tell you, letting people like you walk free," Interjected Harley Waterman, a well to do southern country gentlemen with an irritatingly twangy accent. He was sitting two chairs over and

Being called 'boy' really raised his hackles. He was no boy. He'd lived millions of years, he'd been old before humans had even clawed their way out of the mud.

Castiel was about to stand and fiercely defend his honour, fuelled by the liquor he'd ingested and the fumes he'd inhaled, when Pablo stopped him. Instead, the other man rose and fixed Mr. Waterman with a cold stare.

"How dare you, sir. Angel is here because he was picked to be here. He did not need to suck up to boss men. In this establishment we prize good company and you are coming of as a _pequeno hombre tonto. _You are the boy here. Now run along to your _mamá_" Pablo growled. The redneck flushed with anger but swallowed his words and slinked away to another corner of the sordid venue.

"Thank you." Castiel said, although he felt emasculated and wasn't sure how he felt about being called 'angel'. It hit slightly too close to home.

"Ees okay. We get many stupidos who think they own the place, strutting round like proud roosters."

"He's right though, what am I doing here? I don't exactly fit in." Castiel chuckled.

"You are here because I like you. And now we are alone."

"I suppose we are."

His pulse sped up at Pablo's suggestive tone. A quick scan revealed the other man was right; all nearby company in their secluded corner of plush velvet had disappeared.

"How about another drink?" Castiel suggested. The way this was going, he would need it.

"Of course, can not let my angel go thirsty." He made a quick series of hand gestures to a waiter, who glided off and swiftly returned with two glasses of what he thought might be bourbon.

"It is to compliment cigar. They go well together, it is like music to the taste buds." Pablo said theatrically. Just as Castiel had taken a sip from the glass, he caught sight of something shiny being passed from the waiter to the flamboyant Spaniard.

"What is that?" He asked curiously. Pablo's lip curled seductively.

"Angel Dust of course, for you. It is only fitting." He tapped the little plastic container, displaying the delicate crystals within. Castiel's heart sped up, he was fairly sure he was being offered a dangerous and totally illegal drug.

"I've never heard of it before." He said hesitantly.

"Ah, I forgot the science name, something beginning with P. Worry not, it'll make you see stars."

Dean's disapproving face swam to the forefront of his mind. Again, he quashed the thought with a bit of effort; the haze of alcohol clouding his mind making it considerably easier.

Dean wasn't here, he didn't get a vote.

_Besides_, he rationalised, _I've already done drug deals, plus being here is surely illegal. This isn't anything too different._

He'd crossed a line a while back, what was the use of pretending he hadn't? If he was out of the garden anyways, he might as well enjoy the forbidden fruit.

"How do I take it?"

Pablo shot him a dazzling smile and opened the plastic container, taking two pinches worth of crystals out and two things that looked like straws out of his breast pocket.

"Like this, I'll show you first, then you'll see it's safe. Trust me." He said gently, squeezing Castiel's hand. It was an intimate gesture that made him burn hot, feel giddy and caused a strange feeling in his gut all at the same time. It was like someone had reached into his body, grabbed a handful of organs in a clenched fist and was twisting them round.

Human emotions were so complex, even he didn't know what he was feeling sometimes.

In front of him, Pablo arranged the first pinch of crystals in a pile on a small rectangle of card. Then, finger pressed to one side of his nose, he lined up the straw with the pile and his other nostril. He took a deep (yet still attractive) sniff, sucking all the Angel Dust up in one quick movement.

All the while Castiel watched in fascination; it was like a scientific experiment.

"Now you, do just as I did, my angel."

With trepidation and shaking hands (although that was likely due to the alcohol) he took a straw and lined it up with the second pile. He blocked one side of his nose, like Pablo had done. A strange thought flitted through his head that his face didn't feel like his own face.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled.

It burned Castiel's nostril slightly and left a sort of alkali residue that he could smell every time he breathed in. He looked at Pablo for approval, to check he'd carried out the procedure correctly.

The dazzling latino nodded back, lids already heavy.

"How long until – " He began to ask. However before he could finish his sentence he was hit with a sense of calm numbness and detachment that washed over him like a wave.

"Huh." He whispered. There were no stars: Pablo was wrong about that, but he did feel like he was floating several metres above his body.

He was weightless, suspended in midair like a moat of dust. Shallow breathing resulted in a giddy feeling; he was on top of the world.

"Do you feel what I feel?" a voice came from beside him. Suddenly Pablo was there too, floating beside him.

"I feel it."

"No, do you _feel _what I _feel_?" he was pressed so tightly against Castiel's side that he could feel the other man's shallow breaths tickle his neck.

"I – " he lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

All he wanted was to be touched, to find comfort in another human. His body was on fire and his pulse thudded in his ears. After an odd flash of guilt subsided he lost the will to resist any longer.

A small moan escaped his lips as he arced into the other man's touch. Pablo's lips ghosted down the side of his face and came to rest on his neck, gently sucking and biting right on his pulse point.

"I've never…" He managed to get out between breaths.

"Trust me. I will take good care of you, my angel." He tilted Castiel's face up to look at his. "Such beautiful blue eyes." He leaned in and captured Castiel's lips, who surrendered all too willingly.

The kiss started slow and languid, then got more passionate and desperate as Pablo crushed his lips into Castiel's, snaking his tongue into the shorter man's mouth.

Suddenly he was pulled into the latino's lap, where the vigorous kissing caused a delicious friction that went straight to his groin. Through the morphing haze of the drug Castiel realised they were still in a public place.

"Someone could see us." He half whined, breaking the kiss for a second.

"There is no one. Just us." Pablo reclaimed his lips. He did not resist; there was a part of him that found it exciting that they could be caught at any moment. Besides, it was only them up on their private little cloud. At this point Castiel didn't care much about anything.

He wrapped his arms around the other man's neck, fingertips digging into the tops of his muscular shoulder blades. Pablo removed a hand from Castiel's back where he was pulling them as close together as possible and rested it in on his chest on top of his partially unbuttoned shirt.

When had that happened? He slid his hand down the ex-angel's chest, caressing his hips bones, making Castiel shiver. Pablo's hand paused atop the button of his slacks, silently asking permission. Castiel moaned and leaned into the other man's touch, desperately craving release.

With deft hands Pablo swiftly unbuttoned the shorter man's trousers and slid his hand down again, coming to rest on Castiel's straining erection.

"Please." He whined, bucking his hips.

"Of course, my angel." Pablo whispered, stroking Castiel slowly, who could not help thrusting his hips in time, trying to increase the friction.

"So needy." The latino began to stroke faster and finally he really was seeing stars. He rutted against the other man at a frantic pace; he was so close.

He came with a cry of 'Dean' on his lips.

-0-

"Cas where the _hell_ have you been?" Dean exclaimed once Castiel had half dragged himself through the bunker door the next morning. Castiel sunk further into his chair, feeling rather like a rebellious teenager being caught sneaking back in by his parents after a night out.

"I was…out."

"Out? You left yesterday afternoon! We thought you might've been kidnapped or killed by a pack of demons, for fucks sake!"

"What Dean is trying to say is that we were worried about you. Would it have killed you to leave a note?" Sam interrupted Dean's rant, sounding like the more reasonable parent.

"I apologize, it was not my intention to worry you. I will inform you of my intentions next time." Castiel replied softly.

"That doesn't change the facts. Where the fuck were you, anyway?"

Castiel shook his head, not wanting to reply.

"Cas?" Dean questioned again. He shook his head again, not meeting the older Winchester's piercing gaze.

"Leave it Dean, he doesn't want to say." Sam resigned. He got up and yawned, shaking his head with a small smile on his lips. Sam turned and left the room, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

"I don't understand, why won't you tell me?"

"Because…" He trailed off, dragging his head up to meet Dean's gaze. The other man's green eyes widened and did a double take, zeroing in on a spot on Castiel's neck.

"Are those? Oh. Ooh." Dean made a quick series of facial expressions that settled on a too-wide grin.

The memory Pablo's ministrations to his neck last night suddenly resurfaced in Castiel's mind. He quickly pulled his collar up, ears burning as he attempted to conceal from sight the purple bruises flowering on his neck and clavicle.

"I see. So you got some, ey Cas?" Dean asked. He nodded in embarrassment.

Dean pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, legs straddling either side.

"I want a full report then."

He said nothing.

"Was she hot?"

He said nothing.

"Did you go all the way?"

He shook his head.

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. "C'mon Cas your busting my balls here, why won't you tell me anything about this mystery girl."

Castiel looked guiltily to the side, developing a sudden interest in a small patch of wooden floor.

"There's no reason why you wouldn't, s'not like I'm going to make fun of you." Dean started.

His eyebrows suddenly shot up. "Unless…Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Was it, er, a guy?" Dean said hoarsely.

Castiel's silence gave him away.

"Oh, ok. That's er…I'm going to, um." The older Winchester went very pale in the face as he tripped over his words. Looking like he'd seen a ghost, he did a quick 360 and marched out of the room, leaving Castiel sitting there alone.

_Oh God, _he thought_, Dean hates me now. He thinks I'm disgusting. _He felt panic rising in his chest. Dean had never been outright homophobic, although he made a few derogatory comments now and then. Castiel didn't think he would react this badly. Obviously he was wrong.

The thing is, he didn't think of himself as homosexual. He had only been human for a tiny fraction of his lifespan. When he was an angel he wasn't bound by gender binaries. Angels didn't have genders so he didn't know what to label himself now. Only his vessel was male, he didn't really know about the rest of him.

None of the labels worked for him. What did that make him, a nothing?

He needed to get out of here.

**DEAN**

_Cas was with a _guy _last night, _Dean thought. He couldn't get the thought to stop reverberating through his head.

_A guy_

_A guy_

_A GUY._

It wasn't like he was homophobic; he knew sometimes he made jokes but he was never serious.

Hell, he'd chatted up guys before. Strictly for information, of course, but still, it would be hypocritical of him to be a homophobe.

He wasn't sure why he was freaking out so much. His chest was tight and he could barely breathe. Taking frantic gulps of air, he practically flew into his bathroom, locking it with a shaking hand and bracing himself on the sink. He stared at his face in the mirror. He was as red as a beet and shaking like a leaf.

He thought he might be sick.

It wasn't the thought of Cas with a guy per se, it was the thought of Cas with anyone at all that really got his stomach churning and his pulse pounding.

The idea of Cas going out and hooking up with someone like some common whore…well, like Dean, to be honest.

Other people didn't know what Cas was like, they didn't know what Dean did. That he was impossibly strong yet so fragile at the same time. That he would sacrifice himself for his friends. That he would give up fucking _immortality_ for one guy.

Other people didn't know that.

But he did.

Realisation hit Dean like the Atlantic ocean breaking over his head.

He felt jealous.

Jealousy was not a feeling he associated with himself; jealousy was for petty people who wished they had more and did nothing about it. Dean was a do'er. If he wanted something he went out and he fucking earnt it, it was the way he'd been raised.

But no, everything was different now. He was jealous of the man who'd marked up Cas as his own, who'd put his mouth to Cas', who'd even –

The thought was too much for Dean. It made him boil with rage.

_Castiel is MINE, _he thought possessively, driving his fist with blinding speed into the bathroom mirror. It cracked, splintering into large jagged shards. Rivulets of blood ran from his bruised and bloody knuckles down the sides of the chipped enamel basin.

He heard the footfalls of what sounded like a giant moose approaching his room; Sam had undoubtedly heard the noise and assumed his brother was in danger.

He should really be used to it by now; this was the second mirror this month.

'Dean! You alright?' His little brother bounded up to the door, rattling the handle and then banging on the door upon finding it locked.

_No, I'm not alright, _he thought bitterly.

He had to go find Cas.

He had to find him _right now._

The all consuming urge of getting to his best friend drove him to practically knock out Sam as he barrelled out of the bathroom.

"Dean!" Sam cried, grabbing Dean's forearm in one of his oversized hands. Dean ripped his arm away, using all of his strength and practically dislocating his shoulder in the process (his little brother was strong, he'd give him that).

'Don't follow me, Sammy." He growled as he stalked out of the bunker.

He didn't know when Cas had left, but he had a good idea where he might be.


End file.
